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THE   COGNITIVE    POWERS. 

BY 

JAMES   McCOSH,  D.  D  ,  LL.  D.,  Litt.  D. 
One  vol.  i2mo,  $1.50. 


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PSYCHOLOGY 


THE   MOTIVE    POWERS 


EMOTIONS,  CONSCIENCE,  WILL 


BY 

JAMES  McCOSH,  D.  D.,  LL.D.,  Litt.  D. 

PRESIDENT   OF   PRINCETON   COLLEGE,    AUTHOR   OF   "  METHOD 

OF  DIVINE  GOVERNMENT,"  "  INTUITIONS  OF  THE  MIND," 

"laws   OF   DISCURSIVE    THOUGHT,"    "REALISTIC 

PHILOSOPHY,"    "psychology,"    "  THE 

COGNITIVE   POWERS,"   ETC 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1889 


iRART 

EJUG. 

PSYCH. 

LIBRARY 


Copyright,  1887, 
By  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


s^o/6y 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambriiige  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  COk 


CONTENTS. 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

PAQK 

Distinction  between  the  Cognitive  and  Motive  Powebs.         1 


THE   EMOTIONS. 

Prefatory  Note 

INTRODUCTION. 
Elements  involved  in  Emotions  . 


BOOK  I. 

THE  FOUR  ELEMENTS   OR  ASPECTS  OF  EMOTION. 

CHAPTER   I. 
First  Element  :  Appetences  or  Motives. 

SBCTION 

I.  What  Appetences  are 13 

II.  Primary  Appetences 15 

III.  Secondary  Appetences 22 

IV.  Supplementary:  Evolution  of  Emotions     .....  24 
V.  Supplementary :    Do  the  Derivative  Appetences  bear  a  Con- 
scious Reference  to  the  Original  Ones  ? 25 

VI.  Differences  of  Appetences  in  Different  Individuals        .        .  27 

VII.  Conspiring  Appetences 29 

VIII.  Conflicting  Appetences 31 

EX.  Dominant  Appetences         ........  35 

X.  Undeveloped  Appetences 37 

XI.  The  Motiveless  Man 40 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  II. 

Second  Element  or  Aspect:  The  Idea  (Phantasm), 

section  page 

I.  Nature  of  the  Idea  which  calls  forth  Emotion  .        .        .  .42 

II.  Works  of  Fiction 50 

III.  Association  of  Emotions.  —  Bursts  of  Passion          .         .  .52 

IV.  Spontaneous  Flow  of  Thought 57 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Third  Element  or  Aspect  :  The  Excitement  with  Attach- 
ment AND  Repugnance. 

I.  Their  General  Nature 62 

n.  Action  and  Reaction  of  Feeling 69 

III.  Nature  restoring  Itself 70 

CHAPTER   IV. 
Fourth  Element  or  Aspect  :  The  Organic  Affection   .        .    73 

BOOK  II. 

CLASSIFICATION  AND   DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  EMOTIONS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Division  of  the  Emotions 91 

CHAPTER  II. 

Emotions  as  directed  to  Animate  Objects. 

I.  Retrospective  Emotions 94- 

II.  Immediate  Emotions 102 

III.  Prospective  Emotions 115 

Anatomy  of  Expression 126 

CHAPTER  III. 
Emotions  called  forth  by  Inanimate  Objects.    The  Esthetic. 

I.  iEsthetical  Theories 130 

II.  Physical  Beauty 134 

III.  Intellectual  Beauty 139 

IV.  The  Idea  raising  the  .S:sthetic  Feeling          .         .         .         .  143 
V.  What  is  the  True  Theory  of  Beauty  ? 148 

VI.  Influence  of  Association  on  Taste         .....         150 

VII.  Complexity  of  the  Esthetic  Affections 151 


CONTENTS.  t 

SECTION  PAOB 

VIII.  The  Picturesque 153 

IX.  The  Ludicrous 156 

X.  The  Sublime 161 

XI.  Beauty  in  Natural  Objects 164 

XII.  The  Fine  Arts 171 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CONTINUODS    EMOTION8. 

I.  Affections  and  Passions 175 

II.  Emotions  coming  up  in  Groups 176 

III.  Temperament 178 

IV.  Temper 180 

V.  The  Prepossessions 181 

VI.  Prejudice 183 

VII.  Fickleness  of  Feeling 1 85 

VIII.  Rilling  Passions 186 

IX.  Community  of  Feeling 190 

Conclusion 192 


THE   CONSCIENCE. 

CHAPTER  I. 
There  is  such  a  Power 195 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Conscience  as  a  Cognitive  Power 201 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Conscience  as  a  Motive  Power  with  Emotions    .        .    206 

CHAPTER  IV. 
What  the  Conscience  reveals 206 

CHAPTER   V. 
The  Conscience  in  Actual  Exercise 211 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Development  and  Growth  of  the  Conscience        .        .        .    220 


VI  CONTENTS. 

THE  WILL,   OR  OPTATIVE   POWER. 
CHAPTER  I. 

PAOB 

Thk  Essential  Nature  of  Will 231 

CHAPTER  II. 
Various  Forms  of  Voluntary  Acts 234 

CHAPTER   III. 
The  Will  associating  Itself  with  other  Mental  Acts     .    240 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Will  as  exercised  in  the  Moral  Virtues     .        .        .    249 

CHAPTER  V. 
Will  in  the  Christian  Graces 250 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Will  as  an  Element  in  Love 252 

CHAPTER   VII. 
The  Influence  op  the  Will  on  Character    ....    255 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Will  has  Freedom 258 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Will  the  Seat  of  Responsibility 261 

CHAPTER  X. 
Ideas  given  by  the  Motive  Powers 264 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Conclusion.  —  Man's  Religious  Tendencies     ....    265 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

DISTINCTION    BETWEEN    THE    COGNITIVE    AND    MOTIVE 
POWERS. 

From  a  very  old  date  there  was  a  distinction  drawn, 
more  or  less  loosely,  between  the  powers  of  mind  which 
give  knowledge  and  those  which  stir  up  feeling  and  lead 
to  action.  In  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  we  read  on  the  one 
hand  of  "understanding,"  "comprehension,"  "imagina- 
tion," "  reins,"  and  on  the  other  hand,  of  bowels  of  pity 
and  compassion.  The  word  "  heart,"  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment and  in  the  New,  seems  to  include  all  that  is  in  the 
mind  prior  to  action,  all  "  thoughts,"  "devices,"  "im- 
aginations." Plato  and  the  Greeks  generally  had,  on 
the  one  hand,  such  powers  as  alcrdria-i<;,  voC?,  Aoyos,  Sd^a, 
TTtcTTts,  on  the  one  hand,  and  iraOiq,  Ovjxo'i,  iTnOvfxrjTLKov,  on  the 
other.  Aristotle  drew  the  distinction  between  the  Nostic 
power  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Orective  power  on  the 
other,  and  this  was  more  definitely  expressed  by  his  com- 
mentator, Philoponus.^  This  last  phrase  was  translated 
into  Latin  and  called  the  Appetent  or  Motive.  Cicero 
says,  "  Motus  animorura  duplices  sunt  ;  alteri  cogita- 
tiones,  alteri  appetitus,"  ^  the  one  inquiring  into  truth, 

1  Aristotle,  III.  10;  Philoponus's  Proem:  in  Lib.  de  Anima  Aris.  See 
Monboddo's  Ancient  Met.  B.  II.  7,  where  great  importance  is  attached  to 
the  distinction. 

2  Cic,  De  Offic.  I.  29. 


2  GENERAL  INTRODUCTION. 

the  other  impelling  to  action.  In  the  scholastic  ages  the 
distinction  was  between  the  intellect  (mens)  and  the 
will ;  in  modern  English  theology  between  the  under- 
standing and  the  will ;  in  common  literature  between 
the  judgment  and  the  feelings;  in  common  conversation 
between  the  head  and  the  heart.  In  appears  to  me  that 
it  is  of  great  importance  to  keep  up  this  twofold  distinc- 
tion. 

Having  treated  of  the  cognitive  powers  in  a  previous 
volume,  I  am  in  this  to  unfold  the  characteristics  of  the 
motive,  as  they  have  been  called  the  orective,  the  impul- 
sive, the  appetent  powers ;  the  feelings,  the  affections, 
the  sentiments,  the  heart. 

The  most  common  division  of  the  faculties  in  the 
present  day  is  the  threefold  one  adopted  by  Kant :  cog- 
nition, feeling,  and  will.  It  proceeds  on  a  real  and  im- 
portant distinction,  which  must  ever  be  kept  in  view. 
Unfortunately,  as  I  think,  it  leaves  out  the  moral  power 
or  conscience,  which  is  entitled  to  have  a  separate  place 
as  one  of  the  characteristics  of  man,  specially  distin- 
guishing him  from  the  lower  animals. 

It  is  of  moment  to  keep  up  the  old  twofold  division 
as  being  the  deepest,  as  having  run  through  the  ages,  and 
as  being  embodied  in  our  habitual  thoughts  and  com- 
mon literature.  There  are  some  advantages  in  keeping 
the  feelings  and  the  will  under  one  head  :  the  motive. 
Under  the  two  grand  heads,  with  their  sixfold  subdi- 
visions, we  can  rank  all  the  leading  powers  and  manifes- 
tations, and  determine  their  ofl&ces  and  their  differences. 
In  particular,  under  the  second  division,  that  of  the  mo- 
tive powers,  we  distinguish  between  the  feelings  and  the 
will  while  we  include  the  moral  power. 

Having  treated  of  the  cognitive  powers  in  Vol.  I.,  I 
am  in  this  to  unfold  the  characteristics  of  the  motive 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION.  d 

powers,  as  they  are  called  the  orective,  the  appetent, 
the  impulsive  powers;  the  feelings,  the  sentiments,  the 
affections,  the  heart,  as  distinguished  from  the  Gnostic, 
the  cognitive,  the  intellect,  the  understanding,  the  rea- 
son, the  head. 

These  motive  powers  fall  under  three  heads :  the  emo- 
tions, the  conscience,  the  will.  It  is  not  to  be  under- 
stood that  these  are  unconnected  with  each  other,  or  with 
the  cognitive ;  emotions  contain  an  idea  which  is  cogni- 
tive. The  conscience  may  be  regarded  as  combining 
characteristics  of  each  of  the  two  grand  classes ;  being 
cognitive  as  discerning  good  and  evil,  and  motive  as 
leading  to  action  ;  the  will  has  to  use  the  other  powers 
as  going  on  to  action. 

Emotion  occupies  more  room  than  the  other  two  in 
this  treatise,  inasmuch  as  its  operations  are  more  varied, 
and  as  the  account  usually  given  of  it  (so  it  appears  to 
me)  is  more  defective. 


THE  EMOTIONS. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


I  AM  not  satisfied  with  the  account  which  has  been 
given  of  the  feelings  and  emotions  in  our  books  of  mental 
science,  and  thence  transferred  into  the  common  thought 
and  literature  of  modern  times. 

The  word  "feeling"  in  English,  and  the  word  "sensi- 
bility "  in  French,  with  their  cognate  phrases  "  feel," 
"  sentiment,"  and  "  sentir,"  are  very  vague  and  ambigu- 
ous. They  may  embrace  two  such  different  mental 
properties  as  sensation,  on  the  one  hand,  and  emotions, 
as  of  fear,  hope,  grief,  and  anger,  on  the  other,  Some 
writers  lose  themselves  and  confuse  their  readers  by 
speaking  of  all  our  mental  states,  even  our  intellectual 
exercises,  as  feelings.  The  word  "•  Gef iihl "  in  German 
is  scarcely  less  ambiguous,  sometimes  designating  mere 
affections  of  the  senses,  at  other  times  our  higher  faiths. 

Those  who  translate  English,  French,  and  German  into 
Latin  and  Greek  have  always  experienced  a  difficulty 
in  getting  words  in  these  classical  languages  to  corre- 
spond to  those  I  have  named  in  the  modern  tongues.  It 
is  a  curious  circumstance  that  we  have  no  such  loose 
phrase  in  the  Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures  as  our  "feel- 
ings." 

In  these  circumstances  it  is  surely  desirable  to  have 
the  emotions  separated  from  the  feelings,  and  to  have  a 


8  PREFATORY  NOTE. 

renewed  attempt  to  give  an  analysis,  a  description,  and 
classification  of  them,  as  distinguished  from  other  mental 
qualities. 

The  vagueness  of  the  idea  entertained  favors  the  ten- 
dency on  the  part  of  the  prevailing  physiological  psy- 
chology of  the  day  to  resolve  all  feeling,  and  our  very 
emotions,  into  nervous  action,  and  thus  gain  an  impor- 
tant province  of  our  nature  to  materialism. 

This  part  of  the  v^ork  is  largely  an  abridgment  of 
my  work  on  the  Emotions,  which  any  one  may  consult 
who  wishes  to  see  the  illustrations  and  disquisitions 
which  I  have  not  copied  into  this  book. 

In  this  work  I  treat  of  the  emotions  as  psychical  acts, 
but  I  do  not  overlook  their  physiological  concomitants 
and  effects.  I  enter  little  into  controversy.  My  aim 
has  been  to  expound  the  truth,  and  leave  it  to  shine  in 
its  own  light. 


INTRODUCTION. 

ELEIVEENTS  INVOLVED   IN   EMOTIONS. 

FOUE,  persons  of  very  mucli  the  same  age  and  temper- 
ament are  traveling  in  the  same  vehicle.  At  a  particular 
stopping-place  it  is  announced  to  them  that  a  certain  in- 
dividual has  just  died  suddenly  and  unexpectedly.  One 
of  the  company  looks  perfectly  stolid  ;  a  second  compre- 
hends what  has  taken  place,  but  is  in  no  way  affected ; 
the  third  looks  and  evidently  feels  sad ;  the  fourth  is 
overwhelmed  with  grief,  which  finds  expression  in  tears, 
sobs,  and  exclamations.  Whence  the  difference  of  the 
four  individuals  before  us  ?  In  one  respect  they  are  all 
alike,  —  an  announcement  has  been  made  to  them.  The 
first  is  a  foreigner,  and  has  not  understood  the  communi- 
cation. The  second  had  never  met  with  the  deceased, 
and  could  have  no  special  regard  for  him.  The  third  had 
often  met  with  him  in  social  intercourse  and  business 
transactions,  and  been  led  to  cherish  a  great  esteem  for 
him.  The  fourth  was  the  brother  of  the  departed,  and 
was  bound  to  him  by  native  affection  and  a  thousand 
interesting  ties,  earlier  and  later.  From  such  a  case  we 
may  notice  that  in  order  to  emotion  there  is  need,  first, 
of  some  understanding  or  apprehension.  The  foreigner 
had  no  feeling,  because  he  had  no  idea  or  belief.  We 
may  observe  further  that  there  must  be,  secondly,  an  af- 
fection of  some  kind,  for  the  stranger  was  not  interested 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

in  the  occurrence.  The  emotion  flows  forth  from  a  well, 
and  it  is  strong  in  proportion  to  the  waters,  —  is  stronger 
in  the  brother  than  in  the  friend.  It  is  evident,  thirdly, 
that  the  persons  affected  are  in  a  moved  or  excited  state. 
A  fourth  peculiarity  has  appeared  in  the  sadness  of  the 
countenance  and  the  agitations  of  the  bodily  frame. 
Four  elements  have  thus  come  forth. 

Firsts  there  is  the  affectio7i,  or  what  I  prefer  calling  the 
motive  principle^  the  motive  or  the  appetence.  In  the  il- 
lustrative case,  there  are  the  love  of  a  friend  and  the  love 
of  a  brother.  But  the  appetence,  to  use  the  most  unex- 
ceptionable phrase,  may  consist  of  an  immense  number 
and  variety  of  other  motive  principles,  such  as  the  love  of 
pleasure,  the  love  of  wealth,  or  revenge,  or  moral  appro- 
bation. These  appetences  may  be  original,  such  as  the 
love  of  happiness ;  or  they  may  be  acquired,  such  as  the 
love  of  money,  or  of  retirement,  or  of  paintings,  or  of  ar- 
ticles of  vertu,  or  of  dress.  These  moving  powers  are  at 
the  basis  of  all  emotion.  Without  the  fountain  there 
can  be  no  flow  of  waters.  The  passenger  who  had  no 
regard  for  the  person  whose  death  was  reported  to  him 
•was  not  affected  with  grief.  The  two  who  loved  him 
felt  sorrow,  each  according  to  the  depth  of  his  affection. 

Secondly^  there  is  an  idea  of  something^  of  some  object 
or  occurrence,  as  fitted  to  gratify  or  disappoint  a  motive 
principle  or  appetence.  When  the  friend  and  brother  of 
the  departed  did  not  know  of  the  occurrence  they  were 
not  moved.  But  as  soon  as  the  intelligence  was  conveyed 
to  them  and  they  realized  the  death,  they  were  filled  with 
sorrow.  The  idea  is  thus  an  essential  element  in  all 
emotion.  But  ideas  of  every  kind  do  not  raise  emotion. 
The  stranger  had  a  notion  of  a  death  having  occurred, 
but  was  not  moved.  The  idea  excited  emotion  in  the 
breasts  of  those  who  had  the  affection,  because  the  event 


FOUR   ELEMENTS   IN   EMOTIONS.  11 

apprehended  disappointed  one  of  the  cherished  appe- 
tences of  their  minds. 

Thirdly^  there  is  the  conscious  feeling.  The  soul  is  in 
a  moved  or  excited  state  —  hence  the  phrase  emotion. 
Along  with  this  there  is  an  attraction  or  repulsion  :  we 
are  drawn  toward  the  objects  that  we  love,  that  is,  for 
which  we  have  an  appetence,  and  driven  away  from  those 
which  thwart  the  appetence.  To  use  looser  phraseology, 
we  cling  to  the  good,  and  we  turn  away  from  the  evil. 
This  excitement,  with  the  attractions  and  repulsions,  is 
the  conscious  element  in  the  emotion.  Yet  it  all  depends 
on  the  two  other  elements,  on  the  affection  and  the  idea 
of  something  fitted  to  gratify  or  disappoint  it.  The  felt 
excitement  or  passion  differs  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  appetence  and  the  depth  of  it,  and  according  to  what 
the  idea  that  evokes  it  contains.  A  smaller  gain  or  loss 
does  not  affect  us  so  much  as  a  greater,  and  the  greatness 
or  smallness  of  the  gain  or  loss  is  determined  by  the  cher- 
ished affection.  What  is  a  loss  to  one  is  not  felt  to  be 
so  by  another,  because  the  ruling  passions  of  the  two  men 
differ. 

Fourthly,  there  is  an  organic  affection.  The  seat  of 
it  seems  to  be  somewhere  in  the  cerebrum,  whence  it 
influences  the  nervous  centres,  producing  soothing  or  ex- 
citing and  at  times  exasperating  results.  This  differs 
widely  in  the  case  of  different  individuals.  Some  are 
hurried  irresistibly  into  violent  expressions  or  convulsions. 
Others,  feeling  no  less  keenly,  may  appear  outwardly 
calm,  because  restrained  by  a  strong  will ;  or  they  may 
feel  repressed  and  oppressed  till  they  have  an  outlet  in 
some  natural  flow  or  outburst.  But  it  is  to  be  observed 
that  this  organic  affection  is  not  the  primary  nor  the 
main  element  in  anything  that  deserves  the  name  of  emo- 
tion, such  as  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  sorrow,  reproach  and 


12  miRODUCTION. 

despair.  A  sentence  of  a  few  words  announces  to  a  man 
the  death  of  his  brother,  and  reaches  his  mental  appre- 
hension by  the  sense  of  hearing.  First  he  understands 
it,  then  he  feels  it  by  reason  of  his  cherished  affection, 
and  then  there  is  the  nervous  agitation;  Emotion  is  not 
what  it  has  often  been  represented  by  physiologists,  a 
mere  nervous  reaction  from  a  bodily  stimulus,  like  the 
kick  which  the  frog  gives  when  it  is  pricked.  It  begins 
with  a  mental  act,  and  throughout  is  essentially  an  oper- 
ation of  the  mind. 

He  who  can  unfold  these  four  elements  and  allot  to 
them  their  relative  place  and  connection  will  clear  up  a 
subject  which  is  only  imperfectly  understood  at  present, 
and  show  what  emotion  is  in  itself,  and  what  its  place  in 
the  human  constitution.  Each  of  these  aspects  has  been 
noticed  in  works  written  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
times.  The  Scottish  school  of  metaphysicians,  and  es- 
pecially Dugald  Stewart,  have  sought,  but  not  in  a  very 
searching  manner,  to  determine  man's  springs  of  action. 
It  will  be  shown  that  Aristotle  and  the  Stoics  knew  that 
in  all  emotion  there  is  a  phantasm  or  opinion  involved. 
Dr.  Thomas  Brown  has  given  us  an  eloquent  description 
of  the  mental  excitement,  which,  however,  is  chiefly  left 
to  novelists,  who  often  make  mistakes.  Physiologists 
have  had  to  take  up  the  organic  action,  hitherto  with  not 
much  success.  But  so  far  as  is  known  to  me,  the  four 
elements  have  not  been  exhibited  in  their  combination 
and  their  mutual  relation  by  any  one. 

Some  may  prefer  to  call  by  the  name  of  aspect  what  I 
have  called  element,  and  to  this  I  do  not  object.  The 
emotion  is  after  all  one,  with  four  aspects  determined  by 
four  elements. 


BOOK  I. 

THE  FOUK  ELEMENTS  OR  ASPECTS  OF  EMOTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FIKST  ELEMENT:    APPETENCES  OK  MOTIVES. 
SECTION  I. 

WHAT  APPETENCES  ARE. 

By  the  word  appetence  I  understand  what  is  com- 
monly but  vaguely  designated  by  "  motive,"  "  spring  of 
action,"  "disposition,"  "inclination,"  affection."  But 
all  these  have  larger  and  more  indefinite,  not  to  say  am- 
biguous, significations,  and  have  more  or  less  of  the  ele- 
ment of  will.  It^is  necessary  to  remark  thus  early  that 
appetence  has  nothing  in  it  of  the  nature  of  voluntary 
action,  which  belongs  to  a  very  different  department  of 
the  mind.  It  is  simply  a  tendency  in  the  mind  to  crave 
for  an  object  for  its  own  sake.  It  is  not  desire ;  it  pre- 
cedes desire  and  leads  to  it.  It  is  not  action,  but  a  spring 
of  action.  The  phrase  I  prefer  is  a  convenient  one,  as 
the  noun  has  cognate  adjectives:  appetible  and  inappe- 
tible.  It  has  been  noticed,  though  it  has  seldom  been 
formally  announced,  that,  as  the  basis  of  all  emotion, 
there  is  a  mental  principle  determining  its  nature  and 
its  intensity ;  this  I  call  an  Appetence,  or  a  MotivCo 

It  would  be  of  great  service  to  every  branch  of  mental 
science  to  have  an  approximately  good  classification  of 


14  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

tlie  appetences  by  which  mankind  are  swayed.  This  is 
a  difficult  work,  more  so  than  a  classification  of  plants 
or  animals,  the  determining  motives  being  so  many  and 
so  varied  in  appearance  and  in  reality.  Some  seem  to 
act  under  no  guiding  principle,  as  if  on  an  unaccount- 
able impulse ;  but  if  we  reflect,  we  shall  find  that  they 
must  have  been  pursuing  some  end,  indulging  a  lust  or 
passion,  or  restlessly  seeking  a  change  of  state  or  posi- 
tion. In  many  cases  the  man  himself  could  not  tell  us, 
and  we  could  never  discover,  what  swayed  him,  but  we 
may  be  sure  that  there  was  a  glittering  object  attracting 
him.  Every  man  we  meet  with,  hurrying  to  and  fro  on 
the  streets  of  a  great  city,  dancing  in  a  ball-room,  or 
idling  in  a  summer  saunter,  has,  after  all,  an  end  which 
he  is  seeking.  "  For  every  man  hath  business  and  de- 
sire, such  as  it  is."  It  may  be  possible  to  form,  if  not  a 
perfect,  a  good  provisional  arrangement  of  man's  springs 
of  action. 

It  is  obvious  that  men  cannot  be  swayed  by  every  con- 
ceivable motive.  No  man  can  be  made  to  choose  pain 
as  pain.  He  may  choose  pain,  but  it  is  supposed  to  pro- 
mote some  other  end  which  has  power  with  him,  because 
it  may  secure  pleasure,  or  reputation,  or  moral  good. 
There  are  motives  swaying  some  which  have  little  or  no 
power  over  others.  Multitudes  are  led  by  the  love  of 
property  or  of  reputation,  while  others  scarcely  feel  these 
inclinations.  Of  some,  we  are  sure  that  they  are  incapa- 
ble of  doine:  a  mean  or  dishonorable  deed.  Of  others, 
we  believe  that  they  will  never  perform  an  act  of  benev- 
olence or  of  self-sacrifice.  When  a  crime  is  committed, 
there  may  be  certain  persons  suspected  ;  there  are  others 
of  whom  all  are  sure  that  they  have  had  no  participation 
in  it.  Let  us  try  to  ascertain  the  motives  by  which  all 
mankind  are  swayed,  and  which  we  call  — 


PRIMARY  APPETENCES.  16 

SECTION  II. 

PRIMARY  APPETENCES. 

I.  Every  man  is  swayed  by  the  love  of  pleasure  and 
the  aversion  to  pain.  This  is  not  the  result  of  delibera- 
tion, or  an  exercise  of  choice;  it  is  instinctive.  We  shrink 
from  suffering  as  suffering ;  we  lay  hold  of  enjoyment  as 
enjoyment.  Through  a  great  part  of  our  waking  mo- 
ments we  are  influenced  by  these  ends,  —  seizing  this, 
and  avoiding  that.  Even  when  we  resist  these  motive 
powers,  —  as  when  we  stretch  forth  our  hand  to  ward  off 
a  blow  intended  for  our  neighbor,  —  we  feel  them,  and 
have  to  counteract  them  by  some  higher  considerations. 

Little  more  need  be  said  on  this  subject ;  indeed,  little 
more  can  be  said.  "  Pain  "  and  "  pleasure  "  cannot  be 
defined;  this,  not  because  of  their  complexity,  but  of 
their  simplicity,  there  is  nothing  simpler  into  which  to 
resolve  them.  They  do  not  need  to  be  defined,  for  all 
sensitive  beings  know  what  they  are.  I  rather  think 
that  all  pain  originates  in  a  derangement  of  our  organ- 
ism. But  it  is  not  felt  as  pain  till  perceived  by  the  con- 
scious soul. 

The  question  arises.  Is  this  the  only  consideration  by 
which  man  can  be  influenced  ?  The  language  used  by 
many  leaves  upon  us  the  impression  that  this  is  so,  —  it 
is  so  in  their  estimation.  Some  theorists  derive  all  our 
motives  from  this  one.  This,  however,  is  not  the  view 
which  presents  itself  at  first  sight,  which  shows  such  an 
infinite  variety  of  other  attractions,  such  as  kindness, 
sympathy,  the  desire  for  power  and  for  society.  But 
they  tell  us  that  we  have  found  power  and  social  inter- 
course leading  to  enjoyment,  and  they  argue  that  the 
very  idea  of  these,  as  associated  with  pleasure,  raises 


16  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

appetence.  While  the  principle  doubtless  has  its  modi- 
fying  influence,  it  cannot  account  for  the  whole  phe- 
nomena as  exhibited  in  human  nature.  There  are  appe- 
tences other  than  those  looking  to  pleasure  and  pain, 
such  as  the  love  of  children  for  parents  and  for  brothers 
and  sisters,  arising  so  early,  abiding  so  steadfastly,  and 
so  marked,  in  individuals  and  in  families,  that  they  are 
evidently  in  the  very  nature  and  tendency  of  the  soul.^ 

II.  Man  is  inclined  to  promote  the  happiness  and  avert 
the  unhappiness  of  his  fellow-men.  No  doubt  he  may  be 
able  to  restrain  this  disposition  by  a  cherished  selfish- 
ness. But  there  will  be  times  when,  in  spite  of  all  at- 
tempts to  repress  it,  it  will  come  forth  in  some  kind  deed 
or  word.  So  far  as  the  great  body  of  men  and  women 
and  children  are  concerned,  there  is  a  disposition  to 
oblige,  to  help  a  fellow-creature,  if  this  can  be  done  with- 
out injuring  their  own  interests ;  and,  in  the  case  of  not 
a  few,  it  is  a  benevolence  which  prompts  to  self-sacrifice 
and  labors  for  the  good  of  others.  Besides  the  instincts 
which  lead  us  to  seek  our  own  good,  there  are  evidently 
others  which  incline  us  to  find  for  our  fellow-men  the 
things  which  we  regard  as  good  for  ourselves. 

III.  There  are  the  attachments  to  relatives,  as  of  par- 
ents to  children,  and  of  children  to  parents,  of  brothers 
and  sisters  to  one  another,  and,  I  may  add,  of  grand- 
mothers and  grandfathers  to  their  grandchildren,  and 
often  of  more  distant  kindred.  In  all  such  cases  there  is 
a  natural  appetency,  and  this  is  called  forth  by  the  idea  of 
the  person  and  of  the  relationship  of  that  person.  Take 
the  case  of  a  mother.  There  is  a  fountain  within  ready 
to  flow  out.  It  does  not  appear  till  there  is  a  child, 
though  it  seems  to  manifest  itself  at  times  in  an  irregu- 

1  As  to  the  theory  which  draws  them  by  evolution  from  pleasure  and 
pain,  see  Section  III. 


PRIMARY   APPETENCES.  17 

lar  manner  in  the  attachment  of  a  childless  woman  to 
animals  or  other  pets,  or  in  the  craving  for  an  adopted 
son  or  daughter.  Let  there  be  an  idea  of  the  relation  in 
which  the  child  stands  to  the  mother,  of  the  child  being 
her  offspring,  and  being  dependent  on  her,  and  associated 
with  her  now  and  for  life,  and  the  stream  begins  to  flow. 
It  is  the  same  with  all  other  relative  attachments,  say 
paternal,  filial,  sisterly,  or  brotherly.  First  thei-e  is  a  pre- 
disposition, and  then  an  idea  of  the  intimate  connection. 
Along  with  this  there  ai-e  frequently  natural  affinities, 
or  common  tastes  and  tendencies,  which  draw  the  related 
parties  closer  to  each  other.  We  have  all  read  tales  in 
which  a  mother  is  represented  as  recognizing  her  long- 
lost  child,  and  a  sister  falling  into  the  arms  of  a  brother 
whom  she  never  saw,  simply  on  meeting.  But  there  is 
no  ground  for  making  such  a  representation.  The  nat- 
ural likenesses  in  mind,  body,  and  feature  may  predis- 
pose relatives  towards  one  another ;  but,  after  all,  there 
must  be  ground  to  lead  to  and  justify  the  discovery. 
The  affection  thus  called  forth  by  the  appetence  and 
apprehension  is  made  livelier  and  stronger  by  frequent 
intercourse,  by  exchanges  of  affection,  by  offices  of  kind- 
ness, by  common  ends  and  pursuits,  and  may  be  lessened, 
and  in  some  instances  all  but  destroyed,  by  clashing 
interests,  —  say,  about  money,  —  by  quarrels,  and  even 
by  long  separations. 

IV.  The  native  tastes  and  talents,  and  our  very  ac- 
quired ones  when  they  become  part  of  our  nature,  prompt 
to  action,  and  excite  emotion  when  gratified  or  disap- 
pointed, and  this  independent  of  pleasure,  or  pain,  or 
any  other  end.  This  seems  true  of  our  organic  activity. 
The  lamb  frisks,  the  colt  gambols,  impelled  by  a  life  in 
their  frames ;  the  child  solves  the  problem  of  perpetual 
motion ;  and  all  our  lives,  till  the  vital  energy  is  dried 


18  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

up,  and  aged  men  and  women  are  satisfied  with  their 
couch  and  their  chimney-corner,  we  are  impelled  to  move- 
ment and  change  of  movement,  owing  to  the  organs  of 
our  frame  demanding  action.  We  see  this  strikingly 
in  the  musical  talent,  which  often  comes  out  in  very 
early  life.  Our  intellectual  powers,  our  memory,  our 
reasoning,  all  tend  to  act,  and  will  act,  unless  restrained. 
Talents,  arithmetical,  mathematical,  mechanical,  artistic, 
poetical,  historical,  metaphysical,  fitted  for  the  study  of 
objects  in  nature,  inanimate  and  animate,  sun,  moon,  and 
stars,  plant  and  animal,  will  all  find  a  field  to  work  in, 
even  in  the  most  unfavorable  circumstances.  These  may 
show  themselves  in  childhood,  and  continue  dominant 
throughout  the  whole  life,  determining,  it  may  be,  in 
spite  of  difficulties,  the  man's  trade  or  profession,  and, 
indeed,  his  whole  earthly  destiny,  and  possibly  prompt- 
ing him,  though  engrossed  with  earthly  business,  to  de- 
vote the  few  leisure  hours  he  has  to  writing  a  work  on 
natural  history,  a  poem,  or  a  philosophical  treatise.  Not 
only  are  there  intellectual,  there  are  emotional  and,  it 
may  be  added,  moral  powers,  seeking  out  their  appro- 
priate objects,  and  making  the  possessors  search  for 
lovely  landscapes  or  beautiful  paintings,  or  leading  them 
to  visit  the  house  of  mourning,  and  relieve  distress. 

V.  There  are  the  appetites,  as  of  hunger,  thirst,  rest, 
of  motion,  or  sex.  They  originate  in  the  body,  but  they 
become  mental.  They  crave  for  their  objects,  and  this 
for  their  own  sakes,  not  merely  for  the  pleasure  they 
give,  or  the  pain  from  which  their  gratification  delivers 
us.  It  is  not  the  pleasure  that  gives  rise  to  the  appe- 
tite ;  it  is  rather  the  action  of  the  appetite  that  gives 
rise  to  the  pleasure,  —  though  doubtless  the  two  move 
in  the  same  direction,  and  each  gives  an  impetus  to  the 
other. 


PRIMARY   APPETENCES.  19 

VI.  There  is  the  love  of  society.  This  propensity 
appears  among  the  lower  animals,  some  tribes  of  which 
are  gregarious.  It  comes  forth  in  very  early  life  among 
children,  who  draw  towards  others  of  about  the  same  age. 
With  some,  as  they  advance  in  life,  it  becomes  a  strong 
and  confirmed  passion,  so  that  they  cannot  live  without 
the  excitement  produced  by  running  round  the  circle  of 
society,  till  they  become  giddy  and  fall.  Solitude,  ex- 
cept for  a  time  to  soothe  the  mind,  is  felt  to  be  irksome 
by  most  people.  Solitary  confinement  is  one  of  the  se- 
verest of  punishments,  and  when  carried  out  rigidly  has 
been  known  to  end  in  lunacy.  It  is  to  be  observed  that 
persons  associate  most  pleasantly  together  when  their 
trains  of  mental  association  run  in  the  same  direction, 
or  parallel  to  each  other.  Hence  it  is  that  people  of  the 
same  craft  or  profession,  tradesmen,  merchants,  lawyers, 
doctors,  preachers,  students,  teachers,  are  apt  to  meet 
with  each  other  in  larger  or  smaller  companies,  I  have 
noticed  that  the  most  popular  men  and  women  in  society 
are  those  whose  trains  of  thouerht  and  of  conversation- 
and  whose  opinions  and  sentiments,  are  in  thorough  ac- 
cordance with  the  circles  in  which  they  move.  The  best 
liked  people  are  those  whose  whole  manner  and  style  of 
remark  is  a  sort  of  flattery  to  those  they  meet. 

VII.  There  is  a  love  of  esteem,  commendation,  praise, 
glory,  appearing  also  in  early  life,  and  capable  of  becom- 
ing a  dominant  passion.  It  is  apt  to  associate  itself  with 
the  motive  last  mentioned ;  and  the  young  delight  in  a 
smile,  an  appi'oving  word,  or  a  gift  from  those  whom  they 
love,  or  with  whom  they  associate,  from  father,  mother, 
teacher,  and  sometimes  stronger  than  any  others,  from 
companions.  This  principle,  the  desire  to  keep  or  retain 
the  good  opinion  of  others,  often  makes  the  tyranny 
exercised  over  boys  by  their  companions,  in  workshop, 


20  FIRST  ELEMENT:    APPETENCES. 

in  school,  and  college,  more  formidable  than  any  wielded 
by  the  harshest  masters  or  rulers.  As  persons  advance 
in  life  it  becomes  a  desire  to  stand  well  with  the  circle 
in  which  they  move,  their  professional  circle,  or  the  gay 
circle,  or  the  fashionable  circle,  or  the  respectable  circle, 
or  the  good  moral  circle,  or  their  religious  circle,  say, 
their  congregation  or  the  denomination  of  which  they 
are  members.  The  fear  of  losing  the  esteem  or  incur- 
ring the  censure  of  their  social  set  or  party  is  sometimes 
a  means  of  sustaining  good  resolutions,  and  of  keeping 
people  .in  the  straight  course;  quite  as  frequently  it 
tempts  to  cowardice,  as  they  have  not  the  courage  to  do 
the  right  and  oppose  the  evil,  since  it  would  make  them 
unpopular.  In  the  case  of  many  the  desire  becomes  a 
craving  for  reputation,  a  passion  for  fame,  burning  and 
flaming,  and  it  may  be  consuming  the  soul.  This  often 
leads  to  great  deeds  in  war  and  in  peace,  in  the  common 
arts  and  in  the  fine  arts,  in  literature  and  science.  But 
being  ill  regulated  or  carried  to  excess  it  is  often  soured 
into  jealousy,  or  envy,  or  issues  in  terrible  disappoint- 
ment. Being  thwarted,  it  may  become  a  love  of  noto- 
riety, which  commonly  springs  up  in  the  breasts  of  per- 
sons who,  having  met  with  opposition,  or  failed  to  secure 
from  the  good  the  applause  which  they  expected  perhaps 
by  honorable  means,  or  having  incurred  odium,  possibly 
undeserved,  are  bent  on  having  reputation  by  any  kind 
of  means,  or  from  any  sort  of  people.  The  passion  may 
become  so  strong  as  to  need  no  aid  from  the  pleasure 
derived  from  it,  —  nay,  may  lead  the  man  to  injure  his 
health  and  incur  suffering,  in  order  to  secure  posthumous 
fame  of  which  he  can  never  be  conscious. 

VIII.  There  is  the  love  of  power.  It  is  conceivable 
that  this  motive  might  be  generated  by  the  love  of  pleas- 
ure and  the  aversion  to  pain,  for  in  ordinary  circum- 


PRIMARY  APPETENCES.  21 

stances  power  enables  us  to  multiply  our  enjoyments  and 
to  ayoid  suffering.  But  then  it  appears  in  so  marked  a 
form  in  individuals  and  in  families  that  we  are  forced  to 
conclude  that  it  is  native ;  we  discover  that  it  is  often 
inherited  from  ancestors.  It  is  the  grasping  of  power 
combined  with  the  thirst  for  fame  which  constitutes  am- 
bition, the  character  of  the  ambition  depending  on  the 
relative  strength  of  the  two  elements  :  the  former  lead- 
ing  to  the  performance  of  more  brilliant  feats,  but  the 
other  leading  to  the  more  determined  action,  the  two 
united  producing  the  men  whom  the  world  calls  great, 
but  who  have  often  been  the  servants,  or  rather  the  very 
slaves,  of  their  passions.  The  love  of  dominion  is  the 
most  unrelenting  of  all  the  passions  by  which  man  can 
be  swayed,  being  the  power  which  gives  its  strength  and 
persistence  to  tyranny  under  all  its  forms. 

IX.  There  is  the  love  of  property,  what  is  called  ac- 
quisitiveness. This  is  often  represented  as  springing 
from  the  love  of  power,  always  combined  with  the  love 
of  pleasure.  Wealth  gives  us  means  of  securing  many 
kinds  of  enjoyment,  and  no  doubt  is  commonly  coveted 
because  it  is  so  associated  in  our  minds.  But  there  are 
cases  in  which  the  passion  appears  in  very  early  life,  and 
in  which  it  is  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  and  runs 
in  families.  We  see  it  in  an  instinctive  form  in  the 
lower  animals,  as  when  the  dog  hides  his  bones  for 
future  use. 

It  is  necessary,  in  order  to  make  our  enumeration  of 
primary  springs  of  action  complete,  to  mention  two 
others ;  but  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  dwell  upon  them, 
as  they  will  fall  to  be  noticed  more  appropriately  in  a 
later  part  of  this  volume. 

X.  There  is  the  aesthetic  sentiment,  making  us  seek 
and  delight  in  the  beautiful,  the  picturesque,  the  humor- 
ous, and  the  sublime. 


22  FIRST  ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

XI.  There  is  the  moral  sentiment,  prompting  us  to 
seek  and  to  do  what  is  good. 

Fiom  these  leading  forms  as  they  mingle  with  each 
other  and  are  influenced  by  circumstances,  there  proceed 
others,  which  are  called :  — 

SECTION  III. 

SECONDARY   APPETENCES. 

From  the  time  of  Hobbes  of  Malmesbury,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  seventeenth  century,  there  has  been  a  ten- 
dency among  metaphysicians  to  make  the  original  inlets 
of  knowledge  as  few  as  possible.  Locke  made  them 
only  two,  sensation  and  reflection,  and  Condillac,  with 
his  followers  in  France,  reduced  them  to  one,  sensation. 
For  two  centuries  ingenuity  strained  itself  to  the  utmost 
to  derive  all  our  ideas,  even  those  of  God  and  necessary 
truth  and  duty,  from  the  two  sources,  or  more  frequently 
from  one.  I  make  this  historical  remark  simply  as  in- 
troductory to  another:  that  during  the  same  period  there 
was  a  like  determination  to  diminish  the  original  motive 
principles  of  the  mind.  Hobbes  by  a  summary  process 
referred  all  men's  activities  to  motives  drawn  from  pleas- 
ure and  pain.  During  the  last  century  and  the  begin- 
ning of  this,  wasted  labor  was  spent  in  showing  that, 
given  only  one  or  a  few  springs  of  action,  the  whole  of 
man's  conduct  can  be  explained  by  the  association  of 
ideas. 

There  has  been  a  change  in  all  that  theorizing  since 
Darwinism  has  become  a  power.  All  along  thinkers  not 
carried  away  by  the  dominant  philosophy  were  slow  to 
believe  that  there  were  no  special  intellectual  powers, 
that  there  were  no  special  propensities  native  to  man- 
kind generally,   to  races   or  individuals ;   they  thought 


V" 


SECONDARY  APPETENCES.  23 

they  saw  traces  of  these  appearing  at  a  very  early  age 
and  going  down  in  families.  Since  the  doctrines  of  evo- 
lution and  heredity  have  come  into  prominence,  the  cur- 
rent of  opinion  has  entirely  changed.  Now  the  number 
of  powers  and  propensities  in  human  nature  is  supposed 
to  have  become  so  great  by  differentiation  and  specializa- 
tion that  it  is  impossible  to  enumerate  them  and  difficult 
to  classify  them.  Having  tried  to  give  a  provisionally 
good  arrangement  of  the  primary  appetences,  let  us  now 
look  at  the  others. 

One  general  principle  will  be  acknowledged  by  all : 
The  secondary  appetences  imply  primary,  and  grow  upon 
them  as  the  mistletoe  does  upon  the  oak.  We  can  under- 
stand, in  a  general  way,  how  this  is  effected.  Undoubt- 
edly cerebral  and  nervous  action  are  implied,  but  this  is 
not  the  only  nor  the  main  power  at  work.  Materialists 
talk  confidently  of  being  able  to  explain  the  whole  of 
mental  action  by  brain  structure.  But  there  is  an  im- 
passable gulf  between  a  disposition  of  the  cerebro-spinal 
mass  and  a  desire  of  some  kind,  say,  to  attain  a  high 
ideal,  or  to  reach  communion  with  God.  It  is  by  mental 
rather  than  material  laws  that  secondary  affections  are 
fashioned.  Association  of  ideas  plays  an  important  part, 
which  has  been  carefully  unfolded  by  the  Scottish  school 
from  the  days  of  Turnbull  and  Hume  down  to  the  time 
of  Mr.  J.  S.  Mill.  Money  may  be  coveted,  first,  as  pro- 
curing pleasure,  and  then,  perhaps,  by  gratifying  the  de- 
sire for  power  or  applause ;  but  by  being  associated  with 
them  it  becomes  identified  with  them,  and  carries  all 
these  with  it,  and  in  the  end  seems  to  be  desired  for  its 
own  sake.  The  processes  are  first  mental,  but  they  pro- 
duce an  effect  on  the  cerebral  structure  (what  Carpenter 
calls  unconscious  cerebral  affection),  and  the  mind  now 
works  in  accordance  with  it;  and  the  whole  becomes 


24  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

hereditary,  and  may  go  down  from  father  or  mother,  or 
quite  as  frequently  in  some  of  the  peculiarities,  from 
grandfather  and  grandmother  to  their  descendants. 
They  are  confirmed  by  repetition  till  they  become  habits 
and  a  second  nature. 

It  is  a  property  of  our  nature,  however  we  may  explain 
it,  that  these  derived  principles  may  become  primary, 
and  seek,  apparently  for  their  own  sake,  objects  which 
were  at  first  desired,  because  they  tended  to  promote 
farther  ends.  We  have  all  heard  of  persons  clinging  to 
their  money  after  they  were  fully  aware  that  they  could 
draw  no  enjoyment  from  it,  —  say,  when  they  knew  they 
were  dying.  The  ruling  passion  is  often  strong  in  death, 
and  this  passion  may  be  a  derivative  one.^ 

The  derivative  appetences  may  and  do  assume  an  im- 
mense number  and  variety  of  forms,  which  run  into  and 
are  mixed  up  with  each  other.  Some  are  appropriately 
called  secondary,  being  derived  immediately  from  a  pri- 
mary. Others  might  be  called  tertiary  or  quaternary,  as 
they  may  be  derived  from  principles  of  action  which  are 
themselves  derived,  very  frequently  from  a  number  of 
principles,  original  and  derivative,  woven  together  in  all 
sorts  of  ways,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  unravel  the  web. 

SECTION  IV. 

SUPPLEMENTARY. 

Evolution  of  Emotions. 

The  supporters  of  the  evolution  hypothesis  will  not  be  satisfied 
with  the  account  given  above.  They  tell  us  that  the  only  original 
motive  of  the  mind  is  a  desire  of  happiness  and  an  aversion  to  pain. 
From  this  they  draw  all  the  others,  even  those  usually  supposed  to  be 

1  There  is  a  well-authenticated  story  of  a  miser  sending,  before  he  died, 
for  an  undertaker,  and  cheating  him  in  the  bargain  made  for  his  funeral. 


BELATION  OF  SECONDARY  TO  PRIMARY.  25 

primary.  Society  is  felt  first  to  be  pleasant,  and  then  is  sought 
for  its  own  sake.  It  is  the  same  with  the  love  of  property  and 
the  love  of  power.  Attempts  were  made  an  age  or  two  ago  to  show 
how  this  process  might  be  accomplished  in  the  breast  of  the  indi- 
vidual during  the  few  years  of  the  formation  of  his  character.  This 
theory  has  been  abandoned.  It  is  now  argued  that  the  motives 
by  which  mankind  are  swayed  are  the  growth  of  many  and  long 
ages,  have  come  down  from  animal  to  man,  and  go  down  from 
one  generation  of  man  to  another.  There  are  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  the  acceptance  of  this  hypothesis.  It  supposes  that  man  is  de- 
scended from  the  brutes,  in  the  end  from  an  ascidian,  or  a  cell,  or  an 
aggregate  of  molecules.  It  may  be  safely  said  that  no  one  has  been 
able  to  show  how  that  is  done.  With  these  doubts  hanging  over  the 
nature  and  limits  of  evolution  and  heredity,  I  have  thought  it  wise 
not  to  connect  my  exposition  of  human  motives  with  the  development 
hypothesis.  Should  that  doctrine  come  to  be  established  and  be  suc- 
cessfully applied,  it  might  throw  light  on  the  origin  of  human  appe- 
tences, but  would  scarcely  affect  our  account  of  the  appetences  them- 
selves. Assuming  the  one  original  appetence  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
the  hypothesis  would  have  to  show  how  all  the  derivative  ones,  such  as 
the  social  and  moral  ones,  take  their  particular  shapes.  I  wish  it  to  be 
distinctly  understood  that  in  this  treatise  I  undertake  not  to  deter- 
mine the  origin  of  motives  in  the  ages  past  and  among  the  lower  ani- 
mals ;  I  am  satisfied  if  I  give  an  approximately  correct  account  of 
them  as  they  now  act  in  the  human  mind.  In  all  inquiry  into  the 
origin  of  things,  when  we  have  not  historical  proof,  we  must  com- 
mence with  ascertaining  the  nature  of  the  objects  themselves,  and  then 
we  may  seek  to  devise  an  hypothesis  which  will  explain  all  the  facts. 

SECTION  V. 

SUPPLEMENTARY. 

Do  the  Derivative  Appetences  hear  a  Conscious  Reference  to  the 
Original  Ones  ? 

A  very  nice  and  difficult  question  is  here  started.  Does  the  mind, 
in  following  a  derived  impulse,  have  any  reference  to  those  from 
which  it  is  derived  ?  The  secondary  one,  let  us  suppose,  is  the  love 
of  money,  derived  from  the  primary  one,  the  love  of  pleasure.  In 
grasping  the  coin  does  the  man  think  merely  of  the  money,  or  is  there 
some  idea  —  it  may  be  very  vague  —  of  the  enjoyment  expected  to  be 


26  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

derived  from  it  ?  Or,  to  put  the  question  in  a  more  general  form, 
has  the  money  come  to  be  loved  for  its  own  sake,  or  for  the  pleasure 
which  has  come  to  be  associated  with  it  ? 

Is  it  necessary  to  call  in  a  new  principle?  Might  it  not  all  be  ac- 
counted for  by  the  principle  of  association,  acting  till  the  product 
becomes  organic  and  hereditary?  Let  us  suppose  that,  actuated  by 
the  love  of  pleasure,  the  man  finds  that  wealth  is  the  means  of  im- 
parting and  increasing  enjoyment.  Henceforth  enjoyment  is  asso- 
ciated with  wealth,  and  the  wealth  is  coveted  because  of  the  felicity. 
Money  bringing  enjoyment  is  the  idea  that  stirs  up  the  desire.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  suppose  that  we  are  distinctly  conscious  of  the  con- 
templated enjoyment  entering  into  the  act.  The  object,  say  the 
wealth,  may  bulk  so  largely  in  our  view  that  the  other  element  is  not 
specially  noticed.  The  man  may  nt)t  deliberately  choose  the  pleas- 
ure ;  on  the  contrary,  if  there  were  time  and  disposition  to  think,  it 
might  be  seen  that  the  object,  say  ill-gotten  wealth,  is  sure  to  land 
us  in  misery  ;  but  the  object  has  associated  itself  with  a  primary  im- 
pulse, and  draws  him  on  if  some  other  motive  does  not  oppose. 

There  is  a  circumstance  that  imparts  force  to  this  latter  view.  We 
find  that  when  the  secondary  appetence  ceases  to  gratify  the  primary 
one,  it  is  apt  to  be  weakened,  and  may  in  the  end  all  but  disappear, 
or  appear  only  as  the  result  of  an  old  habit.  It  is  thus  that  so  many 
become  disgusted  with  the  objects  which  once  they  desired  so  eagerly. 
The  woman  formerly  loved  is  found,  or  imagined  to  be,  unworthy, 
mean,  selfish,  or  corrupt,  may  have  ceased  to  afford  the  pleasure  she 
at  one  time  did,  or  has  wounded  the  vanity  or  thwarted  some  of  the 
favorite  ends  of  her  lover,  and  is  henceforth  avoided  or  repelled.  In 
this  way  all  persons  with  correct  moral  principle,  or  indeed  with  good 
sense,  become  wearied  with  sensual  indulgences,  which  are  associated 
with  remorse  and  filth.  Fame  and  property  may  become  burden- 
some, because  of  the  cares  and  anxieties  which  they  bring. 

Whichever  of  these  theories  we  adopt,  it  must  ever  be  admitted 
that  there  are  in  the  breast  of  every  individual  natural  appetences  ; 
these  not  merel}-  the  love  of  happiness,  which  is  acknowledged  to  be 
universal,  but  various  social  instincts  and  sympathies.  These  tend  to 
act,  in  spite  of  the  most  adverse  circumstances,  and  show  themselves 
in  disappointed  feelings  when  the  means  of  gratification  are  denied. 
In  conducting  this  discussion,  we  have  come  to  discover  a  most  im- 
portant practical  principle ;  this  is  the  most  effective  way  of  removing 
or  counteracting  an  evil  appetence,  or  one  we  wish  to  be  rid  of.  Let 
us  gather  a  set  of  associations  round  another  object  of  an  opposite 


DIFFERENCES   OF  APPETENCES  IN   INDIVIDUALS.  27 

tendency.  Let  us  cure  a  low  ambition  by  cultivating  a  high  one  ; 
and  this  may  be  done  by  connecting  it  in  our  thoughts  with  some 
primary  appetence  of  a  high  character,  such  as  the  love  of  good  to 
ourselves  or  others.  Lust  is  best  corrected  by  cherishing  a  pure  love. 
Idleness  or  listlessness  may  be  overcome  by  determining  to  pursue  a 
noble  end.  As  we  do  so,  our  associations  will  cluster  round  the 
object,  to  which  we  will  be  drawn  by  all  the  force  of  a  primary 
affection. 

SECTION  VL 

DIFFERENCES   OF   APPETENCES   IN   DIFFERENT  INDIVIDUALS. 

Some  of  these,  such  as  the  love  of  hnpphiess  and  the 
reverse,  operate  in  the  hearts  of  all  men  ;  others,  such  as 
the  love  of  polite  society  and  refinement,  are  confined  to 
a  few.  There  are  persons  who  are  incapable  of  being 
moved  by  ends  which  powerfully  attract  others :  thus 
their  worldly  substance  so  engrosses  some  that  they  can- 
not understand  how  any  one  should  set  a  high  value  on 
knowledge ;  while  with  others  the  thirst  for  learning 
overpowers  the  love  of  gold  and  every  other  sordid  dis- 
position. Some  inclinations  seem  to  be  personal  and  pe- 
culiar to  the  individual,  as  you  see  in  that  youth  a  ten- 
dency to  solitary  musing  not  known  among  any  of  his 
kindred.  Others  are  hereditary,  and  run  in  families,  it 
may  be  penuriousness,  or  vanity,  or  the  love  of  excite- 
ment or  of  strong  drink ;  or  are  characteristic  of  races, 
as  the  love  of  war  or  of  conquest.  Some  are  strong  in 
youth,  and  become  weaker  in  old  age,  as  the  appetites 
and  the  amorous  affections  with  all  their  concomitants, 
and  very  often  also  the  love  of  gayety  and  small  ambi- 
tions. Some  are  apt  to  be  strong  in  the  female  charac- 
ter, such  as  the  love  of  dress  and  of  admiration,  of  sym- 
pathy with  joy  and  sorrow;  others  are,  usually,  stronger 
in  the  male  sex,  as  pride,  courage,  and  the  love  of  adven- 
ture and  speculation.     Some  of  the  motives   are  fixed, 


28  FIRST  ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

like  a  stationary  engine  drawing  up  freighted  carriages 
day  and  night,  such  as  the  love  of  power,  and  ambition 
generally ;  others,  as  the  love  of  excitement  and  amuse- 
ments, move  on  with  circumstances,  like  the  locomotive 
advancing  with  its  accompanying  train. 

In  commonplace  minds,  indeed  with  a  large  body  of 
mankind,  the  main  motives  are  simply  the  desire  to 
secure  the  ordinary  gratification  and  avoid  the  common 
annoyances  of  life,  along  with  the  gratification  of  the 
appetites  and  some  domestic  affections.  They  eat,  they 
drink,  they  sleep ;  they  do  their  necessary  business ;  they 
lay  hold  of  the  easily  available  enjoyments  of  society, 
and  avoid,  more  or  less  carefully,  the  pains  inflicted  by 
natural  laws ;  and  they  thus  pass  through  life  doing  lit- 
tle evil  and  no  good.  Still,  even  in  the  breasts  of  such, 
there  will  at  times  be  deeper  impulses  making  them- 
selves felt,  as  a  fit  of  passion,  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  a 
friend,  a  generous  affection,  a  high  aspiration,  a  reproach 
of  conscience,  an  awe  from  a  supernatural  power, — 
showing  that  man  has  the  remains  of  a  higher  nature  in 
him,  but  kept  under  by  the  lower  appetences,  as  seeds 
are  by  the  snows  and  frosts  of  winter.  It  is  the  office 
of  religion,  like  the  returning  spring,  to  melt  the  ice  and 
awaken  the  seeds  into  life,  and  nourish  them  aright. 

In  some  the  passions  are  few  and  weak.  In  these 
cases  the  temperament  is  apt  to  be  dull,  and  the  char- 
acter feeble,  though  it  is  possible  that  there  may  be  much 
good  sense  and  solid  judgment,  not  liable  to  aberrations 
from  prejudice.  These  people  act  wisely,  but  are  not 
able  to  give  impulse  to  others.  Most  men  and  women 
are  under  a  number  of  motives,  no  one  of  them  being 
very  strong.  The  result  is  a  mediocre  character,  which 
may  be  good  or  evil,  as  it  is  directed.  In  some  the 
moving  powers  are  so  balanced  that  an  equilibrium  is 


CONSPIRING  APPETENCES.  29 

established,  and  you  feel  confident  that  the  man  will  be 
guilty  of  no  extravagance  or  absurdity ;  and  this  not 
because  of  any  moral  quality,  but  simply  because  of  an 
equipoise  of  instincts.  Some  are  moved  by  a  few  strong 
passions,  such  as  self-sufficiency,  self-righteousness,  pride, 
and  hold  their  place  in  society.  Others  are  moved  by 
benevolence,  with  its  fountains  and  streams  of  tender- 
ness and  almsgiving,  and  by  generous  impulses  of  vari- 
ous kinds,  and  they  spread  a  happy  influence  in  society. 
Some  are  under  the  dominion  of  a  few  petty  partialities 
with  enmities  and  friendships,  and  the  result  is  an  eccen- 
tric character,  with  whims,  oddities,  foibles,  and  caprices. 
Others  are  impelled  by  a  number  of  strong  tendencies : 
the  passions  are  vehement,  and  there  are  attachments, 
sympathies,  lusts,  spites,  hatreds,  revenges,  all  acting 
with  or  contrary  to  each  other.  Such  a  combination, 
when  the  capacities  are  weak,  produces  a  weak  and  vac- 
illating character;  but  if  the  intellectual  talents  be  great, 
a  strong  character  for  good  or  for  evil,  for  friendship  or 
enmity,  for  defense  or  attack,  for  building  or  for  destroy- 
ing, for  elevating  or  for  disturbing  a  community,  while 
the  man  himself  lives  in  a  region  of  storms,  and  com- 
plains of  the  opposition  he  is  ever  meeting  with.  These 
are  a  few  of  the  forms  which  natural  character  takes. 

SECTION  VII. 

CONSPIRrNG   APPETENCES. 

Sometimes  the  cords  all  draw  in  one  and  the  same  di- 
rection. The  man  is  healthy ;  he  has  all  the  comforts  of 
life ;  his  business  is  prosperous ;  his  family  are  united ; 
he  is  respected  in  the  community ;  he  is  not  troubled  with 
ambitious  aims ;  and  he  feels  happy,  —  why  should  he 
not  ?     There  are  times  when  prodigious  violence  is  the 


30  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

result  of  a  confluence  of  winds  and  waves.  Henry  VIII. 
so  determinedly  persevered  in  his  purpose  of  procuring  a 
divorce,  because  wearied  of  his  bigoted  wife,  in  doubt  as 
to  the  lawfulness  of  his  marriage,  and  in  love  with  Anne 
Boleyn.  A  man  fleeing  for  his  life,  with  death  in  pur- 
suit, will  bound  over  a  stream  into  which  in  less  stimu- 
lating circumstances  he  would  fall  and  perish.  I  have 
known  students,  at  a  competitive  examination,  by  a  gath- 
ering and  concentration  of  force  doing  as  much  intel- 
lectual work  in  a  few  hours  as  they  could  have  done  in 
as  many  days  without  the  combined  stimulus  of  fame, 
rivalry,  and  expected  profit.  From  like  combined  causes 
have  proceeded,  on  great  emergencies,  bursts  of  extem- 
poraneous eloquence,  as  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln  at 
Gettysburg,  such  as  could  not  have  been  produced  by  the 
most  labored  preparation.  It  is  not  that  the  grand  result 
in  such  cases  is  the  product  of  the  moment ;  there  is  a 
concentration  of  powers  which  have  long  been  collecting, 
a  long  gathering  of  the  winds  now  bursting  out  in  the 
hurricane,  a  deposition  for  years  which  now  falls  on  the 
instant  in  the  avalanche.  It  was  thus  that  the  love  of  in- 
tellectual employment,  of  fame,  and  power,  and  a  desire 
to  promote  the  glory  of  their  country,  all  allured  on  an 
Alexander,  a  Caesar,  a  Napoleon,  to  brilliant  feats  of  con- 
quest. After  a  like  manner,  the  man  of  a  devout  nature, 
like  Mohammed  and  Cromwell,  is  carried  along  as  by  a 
trade-wind;  the  power  is  within,  but  he  feels  as  if  it 
were  something  without  him  and  above  him,  and  calls  it 
the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty.  Or,  under  veiy  differ- 
ent impulses,  finding  that  a  long-coveted  honor  is  denied 
him,  and  roused  into  ungovernable  rage,  he  curses  as  bit- 
terly as  Shimei  did  and  may  threaten  blows  or  murder. 
Or,  after  long  dreaming  of  some  expected  elysium,  he 
"  wakes,  and  finds  his  only  hope  lost."    Or  the  conscience 


CONFLICTING  APPETENCES.  31 

is  roused  from  its  lethargy  by  an  unexpected  calamity, 
and  brings  vividly  before  him  divers  aspects  of  one  sin 
after  another,  or  of  that  one  sin  which  haunts  him  like 
a  ghost,  and  a  hell  is  created  before  the  time,  and  he 
feels  as  if  torn  by  furies  gnawing  at  his  vitals. 

SECTION  VIII. 

CONFLICTING    APPETENCES. 

We  have  just  seen  that  the  motives  may  join  their 
streams  and  give  great  impetus  and  momentum  to  the 
action.  In  other  cases  they  cross  each  other,  and  this  in 
all  sorts  of  ways.  Sometimes  they  directly  oppose  and 
thus  arrest  each  other.  Sometimes  they  clash,  and  pro- 
duce distractions.  So  the  issue  may  be  inaction,  or  it 
may  be  a  compromise,  or  it  may  be  a  terrible  fight. 

Passions  may  contend  m  two  ways.  First  there  may 
be  the  operation  at  one  and  the  same  time  of  two  in- 
consistent propensities  :  there  may  be,  on  the  one  hand, 
ambition  or  a  love  of  money  prompting  to  action,  and 
on  the  other  a  love  of  ease  and  of  immediate  pleasure, 
inclining  to  repose ;  or  there  may  be  a  sense  of  duty 
resisting  a  desire  to  please  or  a  lust  for  sensual  gratifica- 
tion. Were  the  two  equally  balanced,  they  might  coun- 
teract each  other,  and  inaction  be  the  statical  result.^ 
We  see  this  in  so  many  who  would  like  to  gain  a  certain 
end  but  are  hindered  by  a  fear  of  difficulties  or  by  con- 
science, and  who  have  to  content  themselves  with  doing 
nothing,  except  perhaps  cherishing  sullenness,  or  who 
become   distracted  by  reason  of   the  striving   of   winds 

^  "Did  you  ever  see  a  blacksmith  shoe  a  restless  horse?  If  you  have, 
you  have  seen  him  take  a  small  cord  and  tie  the  upper  lip.  Ask  him  what 
he  does  it  for,  he  will  tell  you  it  gives  the  heast  something  to  think  about." 
Wendell  Phillips's  Speeches  and  Lectures. 


32  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

and  waves,  there  being  all  the  while  no  onward  move- 
ment. 

But  more  frequently  both  passions  act.     On  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  parallelogram  of  the  forces,  the  man  follows 
an  intermediate  course.     This  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with 
your  prudent  man,  who  takes  as  much  of  pleasure  as  he 
can  have  without  injuring  his  health  or  reputation.     Or, 
the  man  gives  in  now  to  one  motive,  and  now  to  another, 
and  he  goes  by  fits  and  starts,  or  is  known  as  a  man  of 
shifts  and  expedients.    When  the  motives  are  not  strong, 
his  conduct  is  tremulous,  like  the  sea  when  rippled  by 
the  breezes.     When  they  are  more  powerful,  the  charac- 
ter seems  eccentric  or  untrustworthy,  or  inconsistent  to 
the  world.     "  He  that  wavereth  is  like  a  wave  of  the 
sea."      "A  double-minded  man   is   unstable  in   all  his 
ways."     We  feel  that  we  cannot  confide  in  him,  for  the 
motives  which  swayed  him  to-day  do  not  influence  him 
to-morrow.     His  course  is  a  zigzag  one,  perhaps  an  inter- 
rupted one,  and  regarded  by  all  as  a  contradictory  one. 
In  most  cases  the  forces  are  not  equal,  and  the  path  pur- 
sued is  curved,  perhaps  crooked.     Sometimes  a  number 
of  affections  are  in  activity  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
producing  an  orbit  more  difficult  to  determine  than  that 
of  the  solar  system  among  the  stars.     The  result  is  apt 
to  be  a  constant  variation,  or  an  unstable  equilibrium 
secured  by  multiplied  balancings  ever  liable  to  be  de- 
ranged. 

Or,  secondly,  the  conflict  may  arise  from  the  regurgita- 
tions of  one  and  the  same  appetence,  as  now  the  stream 
flows  on  and  is  gratified,  and  again  is  beat  back  by  cir- 
cumstances, as  by  a  rock,  and  is  disappointed.  The 
affection  is  the  same,  but  the  circumstances  and  the  idea 
differ,  as  now  there  is  the  appetible  to  attract,  but  forth- 
with the  inappetible  to  repel.     Thus  love  may  lead  the 


CONFLICTING  APPETENCES.  33 

man  to  dote  on  the  person  loved,  or  be  jealous  of  her; 
now  it  looks  as  if  he  were  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  for 
her,  and  anon  as  if  he  were  resolved  to  take  away  her 
life,  according  as  he  regards  her  as  returning  his  affection 
or  favoring  a  rival. 

The  conflicts  may  be  keen  and  long  continued  between 
the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  between  passion  and  pruu^^nce, 
between  the  love  of  earthly  enjoyment  and  the  aita^a- 
ment  of  a  high  ideal.  Often  do  these  conflicting  pas- 
sions produce  a  fearful  agitation,  like  that  of  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  by  the  meeting  of  several  tides  or  currents.  The 
source  and  the  power  are  deep  down  in  the  heart,  but 
they  appear  on  the  surface  in  lashings,  crestings,  and 
foam.  The  person  feels  his  state  to  be  intolerable,  but 
cannot  stay  it.  We  see  it  strikingly  exhibited  in  times 
of  suspense,  in  which,  let  it  be  observed,  while  there  is 
a  suspense  of  the  judgment,  there  is  no  suspense  of  the 
motives.  A  critical  event  is  at  hand,  which  is  to  deter- 
mine for  good  or  for  evil  our  destiny  for  life.  An  office 
for  which  we  are  a  candidate  is  to  be  settled,  or  an  im- 
portant offer  has  been  made,  which  has  to  be  accepted  or 
rejected.  What  elevations  and  depressions,  what  hopes 
and  fears,  as  the  person  looks  now  at  the  one  side,  and 
now  at  the  other,  and  as  chances  seem  favorable  or  un- 
favorable !  If  in  the  mean  time  steps  have  to  be  taken 
to  secure  the  issue,  the  exertion  may  so  brace  the  frame 
as  to  keep  it  from  brooding  on  the  results.  But  if  the 
person  has  simply  to  wait,  then  what  alternations  of 
heights  and  hollows!  What  agony  on  the  part  of  the 
prisoner  when  the  jury  has  retired  and  has  not  returned 
to  announce  the  verdict !  What  tumultuous  waves  move 
through  the  bosom  of  the  mother,  as  she  sits  watching 
by  the  sick-bed  of  her  child  through  that  dismal  night 
which  she  knows  to  be  the  crisis  of  the  fever.     Or  in- 


34  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

formation  reaches  her  that  the  vessel  in  which  she  knows 
her  son  was  has  been  shipwrecked;  she  is  so  situated 
that  weeks  must  elapse  before  she  can  learn  whether  he 
was  actually  drowned.  And  what  weeks  !  How  long 
they  are !  And  what  terrible  tremors  by  day  and  visions 
at  night !  the  very  hopes  which  she  momentarily  cher- 
ishes revealing,  what  the  lightning  flash  does,  only  the 
circumambient  darkness.  What  ups  and  downs,  what 
exaltations  and  sinkings  of  heart,  as  the  lover  waits  for 
the  answer  to  his  proposal.  Some  have  felt  the  anxiety 
to  be  so  intense  that  they  wish  for  the  answer  to  come, 
even  though  it  should  be  adverse,  rather  than  continue 
longer  in  this  state  of  crucifying  apprehension. 

In  many  cases  the  combination  is  chemical  rather  than 
mechanical,  and  there  is  a  boiling  and  a  fermentation. 
A  mother  hears  of  her  son  being  slain  on  the  field  of 
battle,  fighting  bravely  for  his  country,  and  having  only 
time,  ere  he  expired,  to  send  one  message,  and  that  of 
undying  love  to  her.  There  is  necessarily  a  terrible  out- 
burst of  grief,  as  she  thinks  how  he  died,  far  away  from 
her,  with  none  to  stanch  his  wounds,  and  that  she  will 
never  see  him  again  in  this  world.  But  then  that  son 
was  generous  and  brave,  and  he  remembered  me  in  his 
last  conscious  moments,  and  I  would  rather  be  the 
mother  of  that  son  than  of  a  king  or  an  emperor.  But 
all  this  only  intensifies  her  sorrow,  when  she  reflects  that 
this  son  is  now  torn  from  her.  In  all  such  cases  each 
natural  feeling  works  its  proper  effect  in  so  far  reliev- 
ing, or  it  may  be  intensifying,  those  combined  with  it. 
What  a  horror  of  thick  darkness,  when  the  mother  has 
to  brood  over  the  grave  of  a  son  who  died  in  a  fit  of 
drunkenness ! 


DOMINANT  APPETENCES.  85 


SECTION  IX. 

DOMINANT  APPETENCES. 

There  are  some  in  whom  there  are  a  few  dominant 
passions;  some  in  whom  there  is  only  one,  —  the  love  of 
the  miser  for  his  gold,  of  the  ambitious  man  for  power, 
of  a  lover  for  his  mistress,  of  a  mother  for  her  children. 
To  this  last  class  may  be  referred  the  man  of  one  idea, 
that  is,  of  a  favorite  project,  which  may  make  him  a 
somewhat  troublesome  member  of  society ;  but  if  the 
idea  be  good,  may  so  concentrate  his  thoughts  and  in- 
tensify his  energies,  which  others  waste,  as  to  enable 
him  to  accomplish  an  important  end.  In  cases  where 
the  intellect  is  weak  and  the  views  narrow,  you  have 
the  angular  man,  the  man  of  crotchets  and  hobbies.  The 
primary  appetence  genders  others,  which  feed  and  sup- 
port it.  The  one  passion  becomes  the  centre  round 
which  other  agencies  circulate,  —  associated  ideas,  plans 
and  projects,  private  and  public  interests  with  daily  ac- 
tivities,—  as  planets  do  round  the  sun,  and  satellites 
round  the  planets.  It  may  come  to  be  the  impelling  and 
the  guiding  power  of  the  whole  life,  of  the  affections 
which  cherish  it,  and  of  the  actions  which  are  the  execu- 
tion of  it.  The  product  is  commonly  an  energetic  chaiac- 
ter,  which  pursues  a  path  of  its  own,  and  moves  along 
like  a  steam-engine  upon  the  rails  set  for  it,  with  irresist- 
ible power  and  great  speed.  Weaker  natures  have  to 
bend  before  it,  as  trees  do  befoi'e  the  tempest.  Men  thus 
moved  and  moving  often  come  to  have  sway  over  their 
districts,  over  their  states,  over  continents,  and  over  ages 
to  come.  It  has  to  be  added  that  they  often  meet  with 
opposition  from  men  as  determined  as  themselves,  they 
have  to  rattle  on  over  flinty  rocks,  and  fire  is  struck  by 


36  FIRST  ELEMENT:    APPETENCES. 

the  collision ;  or  they  are  arrested  in  their  course,  and 
perhaps  are  burned  as  martyrs.  Which  of  these  issues 
is  to  follow  may  depend  on  their  intellectual  force,  or  on 
the  preparedness  of  the  age  to  receive  them. 

The  ruling  passion  differs,  of  course,  in  different  indi- 
viduals. In  some  cases  it  leads  to  deeds  of  self-sacrifice 
and  devotion  which  may  be  regarded  as  sublime,  as 
when  Horatius  of  old  kept  the  bridge,  and  Leonidas 
withstood  the  Persians  at  Thermopylaa ;  as  when  the 
mother  hesitates  not  to  risk  her  life  in  defense  of  her 
child,  and  the  sister  nurses  a  brother  in  a  raging  fever 
breathing  infection  all  around,  and  the  martyr  dies  for 
the  faith.  In  many  cases  it  is  partly  for  good  and  partly 
for  evil,  as  the  love  of  fame  when  it  leads  to  dashing 
feats,  but  may  be  accompanied  with  sour  jealousy  and 
biting  envy,  which  attacks  reputations  and  disturbs  the 
peace  of  the  community.  When  the  actor  is  of  weak 
capacity,  he  is  driven  along  by  his  passion,  as  the  ship 
with  full-spread  sail,  but  without  ballast,  or  rudder,  or 
compass,  is  by  the  winds  and  waves.  When  the  motive 
is  totally  self- regarding,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  miserly, 
the  ambitious,  the  intemperate,  the  licentious,  it  burns 
within  like  a  fire,  absorbing  all  things  into  itself,  even  the 
powers  that  oppose  it,  and  devouring  them  in  its  flame, 
which  may  spread  all  around  and  become  the  bane  of 
the  community.  When  it  is  thwarted,  as  it  is  constantly 
liable  to  be,  very  possibly  by  the  very  obstacles  it  has 
raised  up,  its  agitations  become  as  noisy  and  restless  as 
those  of  the  ocean  upon  an  opposing  precipice.  When 
it  is  totally  and  finally  disappointed,  as  it  must  often  be, 
then  the  bearer  and  the  cherisher  of  it.  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte for  instance,  at  St.  Helena,  is  like  an  imprisoned 
vulture  nibbling  restlessly  at  its  cage. 

In  all  cases  the  heavy  weight  is  apt  to  disturb  the  equi- 


UNDEVELOPED  APPETENCES.  37 

librium  of  the  soul,  which  becomes  misshapen  and  would 
be  the  better  of  being  balanced  by  some  other  affections. 
It  fortunately  happens  that  certain  minor  tastes  and 
kindly  dispositions  often  come  in  to  soften  the  hardness 
and  selfishness  of  the  character.  Macaulay,  absorbed  in 
literature,  was  willing  at  any  time  to  turn  aside  from 
it  to  write  for  the  amusement  of  the  relatives  he  loved. 
What  a  relief  to  the  business  man  to  unbosom  himself  in 
the  evening  in  his  family,  who  may  regale  him  with  pleas- 
ant games,  or  reading,  or  music!  The  fanatic  Robes- 
pierre had  a  redeeming  feature  in  his  love  for  his  dog  and 
for  the  lower  animals.  I  knew  the  mother  of  an  illegiti- 
mate child,  who,  for  fear  of  exposure,  murdered  her  infant, 
but  labored  thi'ough  long,  wearisome  days  to  support  her 
mother.  Tradition  reports  that  Robin  Hood  and  Rob 
Roy  gave  large  portions  of  their  plunder  to  the  poor. 

SECTION  X. 

UNDEVELOPED  APPETENCES. 

We  have  seen  that  there  are  native  tendencies  to  ac- 
tion in  all  men.  All  of  these  do  not  have  an  outlet  at 
every  given  time  ;  some  of  them  may  never  find  a  chan- 
nel. In  the  breast  of  every  child  there  is  a  whole  host 
of  such  appetences,  ready  to  come  forth  like  buds  in 
spring.  The  constant  activity  of  youth  arises  partly 
from  organic  life,  but  it  is  excited  mainly  by  the  mental 
cravings.  It  is  said  that  there  is  as  much  energy  laid  up 
in  a  dew-drop  as  would  make  a  thunder-storm ;  there  is 
certainly  power  in  the  breast  of  that  infant  sufficient  to 
produce  immortal  results.  There  is  force  pressing  in  all 
directions,  laid  up  and  ready  to  burst  out  when  an  open- 
ing is  made.  The  appetences  are  the  varied  sources  of 
the  life  of  youth ;  as  the  rain  which  has  fallen  into  the 


38  FIRST  ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

ground,  and  runs  there  in  gathered  rills,  is  the  feeder  of 
our  fountains.  The  expression  of  the  desires  of  the  young 
is,  "  Who  will  show  us  any  good?"  and  they  are  grateful 
to  any  one  who  will  give  them  employment  in  accordance 
with  their  longings ;  and  you  see  them  running  to  every 
pretentious  spectacle,  and  dancing  round  the  blaze  of 
crackling  thorns.  If  a  lawful  means  of  expending  their 
energy  is  not  allowed,  it  will  break  out  in  lawless  ways; 
making  it  so  important  to  keep  youth  busy,  if  we  would 
keep  them  out  of  evil. 

Some  boys  and  girls  do  not  show  a  particular  ten- 
dency towards  any  one  kind  of  activit}',  but  seem  ready 
for  any  kind  of  work.  Others  early  begin  to  run  along 
certain  marked  lines:  towards  their  father's  occupation, 
or  towards  merchandise,  or  towards  books ;  towards  mu- 
sic, or  painting,  or  mechanics,  or  travel,  or  science,  or 
philosophy,  or  practical  beneficence.  Sometimes  it  is  a 
long  time,  and  only  after  repeated  failures  in  roads  on 
which  he  has  entered,  that  the  young  man  finds  his 
appropriate  sphere  and  work.  One  who  expected  to  be 
a  scholar  has  to  go  to  business;  and  one,  like  Hugh  Mil- 
ler, who  has  tried  a  trade  rises  to  be  a  man  of  science. 
I  felt  myself,  and  I  believe  others  have  felt,  in  the  state 
between  youth  and  manhood,  an  indefinable  longing, 
coming  out  like  the  sighing  of  a  stream  in  the  quiet  of 
the  evening,  and  asking  for  a  settled  work  in  the  morn- 
ing. It  is  the  unuttered  prayer  of  a  spirit  which  has 
unused  capacities,  craving  for  an  object  and  for  em^^loy- 
ment. 

When  they  are  not  allowed  to  come  out  the  appe- 
tences smoulder  like  a  suppressed  fire.  There  may  be 
such  in  the  breasts  of  persons  advanced  in  life.  The 
virgin  may  never  meet  with  one  to  whom  she  chooses 
to  unite  herself,  but  she  has  all  the  sensibilities  which 


UNDEVELOPED  APPETENCES.  39 

would  make  her  happy  with  one  she  loved.  There  is  an 
affection  in  the  mother,  ready  to  clasp  her  infant  as 
soon  as  it  is  born.  Many  a  boy  has  fine  imjDulses  which 
his  teacher  has  not  the  skill  to  call  forth.  There  are 
men  and  women  who  have  capacities  for  friendships  and 
benevolences  which  they  have  restrained  from  timidity  or 
from  selfishness,  and  which,  therefore,  have  become  gradu- 
ally dried  up.  We  must  all  have  met  with  middle-aged 
or  old  men  possessed  of  great  talents  and  wide  aspira- 
tions, but  who  have  never  found  their  proper  field  to  work 
in,  and  who  feel  unhappy  in  consequence,  as  they  expend 
their  strength  on  insignificant  objects.  They  remind  me 
of  Napoleon  in  Elba,  devoting  the  intellect  whicb  used  to 
combine  armies  to  small  farming  operations.  At  times  a 
conjuncture  will  call  forth  a  capacity  which  has  hitherto 
lain  dormant,  as  the  seed  which  had  been  in  the  mummy 
for  thousands  of  years  will  burst  forth  in  open  air  and  a 
congenial  soil.  Thus,  the  death  of  a  father  has  called 
forth  energies  of  a  hitherto  inactive  son,  and  the  death 
of  the  husband  has  revealed  hitherto  unknown  capaci- 
ties of  exertion  and  management  in  his  widow. 

Any  one  looking  into  the  mind  of  a  child  may  discover 
capabilities  there  which  are  to  fit  it  for  a  sphere  in  this 
world.  But  may  we  not  discover  in  the  soul  endow- 
ments and  aspirations  which  do  not  find  their  fitting 
action  in  this,  but  seem  to  be  intended  for  another  and 
a  higher  sphere  ?  How  many  cuttings  are  trained  in  a 
nursery  hei'e,  only  to  be  torn  up,  but  in  such  a  way  and 
with  such  gifts  as  to  show  that  they  are  to  be  trans- 
planted into  a  better  soil !  There  are  longings  in  man 
which  can  be  satisfied  with  nothing  less  than  with  God. 


40  FIRST   ELEMENT  :    APPETENCES. 

SECTION    XT. 

THE   MOTIVELESS   MAN. 

The  phrase  might  be  applied  to  those  who  have  no 
very  strong  appetences  of  any  kind.  They  may  have 
good  intellectual  abilities ;  when  a  work  is  forced  upon 
them  by  circumstances,  they  may  do  it  thoroughly  and 
effectively;  and  from  the  very  fact  that  they  have  no 
predilections,  they  may  pass  a  very  sound  judgment  on 
a  case  submitted  to  them.  But  their  temperament,  it  is 
said,  is  sluggish,  and  they  undertake  no  great  work. 

But  the  phrase  seems  rather  to  be  applicable  to  one 
who  has  lost  a  motive  which  he  at  one  time  had.  A  wife 
(I  have  known  many  such)  has  tried  for  a  long  time  to 
win  back  the  affection  of  a  husband,  or  to  save  him  from 
intemperance.  But  all  her  efforts  have  failed,  and  when 
she  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  they  must  fail  for  the 
future  she  ceases  to  exert  herself.  Her  whole  character 
and  manner  are  now  marked  by  listlessness.  She  feels 
that  it  is  vain  to  try  to  please,  and  her  person  and  her 
household  come  to  be  neglected.  The  only  means  of 
saving  her  is  to  furnish  to  her  a  ground  of  hope  by  the 
reformation  of  her  husband,  or,  we  have  to  add,  by  his 
death.  Much  the  same  state  of  feeling  is  apt  to  be 
superinduced  when  one  who  has  long  toiled  at  business 
finds  in  old  age  that  his  plans  have  utterly  broken  down. 
He  feels  that  there  is  nothing  left  him  but  to  give  him- 
self to  apathy,  from  which  there  is  no  means  of  rousing 
him.  Happy,  surely,  are  those  who  in  such  a  position 
have  motive  and  hope  to  start  for  a  better  world ! 

The  most  painful  cases  are  those  in  which  the  man 
has  lost  motive  of  every  kind.  He  has  failed,  or  he  im- 
agines that  he  has   failed,  in  so  many  things  that  his 


THE   MOTIVELESS   MAN.  41 

habitual  sentiment  is  that  nothing  will  succeed  with  him. 
It  is  of  no  use  laying  any  proposed  line  of  action  before 
him ;  he  will  scarcely  listen  to  it,  or,  if  he  does  so  for  a 
moment,  it  is  only  to  sink  back  into  indifference.  But 
meanwhile  he  is  not  in  the  negative  and  blank  position 
of  one  who  is  utterly  devoid  of  incentives.  For  there 
may  be  ambitious  inclinations  lying  within,  in  a  smoul- 
dering state,  which  he  keeps  down  simply  because  he 
feels  that  they  cannot  be  gratified,  and  which  have  a 
suffocating  effect  upon  him.  With  fine  capacities  of 
thought  and  action,  he  may  give  himself  up  to  a  life  of 
useless  lassitude.  Or,  making  one  other  ecstatic  effort 
issuing  in  failure,  he  may  abandon  himself  to  despair,  or 
terminate  an  intolerable  existence  by  suicide. 


CHAPTER   II. 

SECOND  ELEMENT  OK  ASPECT:  THE    IDEA  (PHANTASM). 
SECTION  I. 

NATURE    OF    THE    IDEA    WHICH    CALLS    FORTH   EMOTION. 

It  is  of  an  object  fitted  to  gratify  or  to  disappoint  an 
appetence  of  the  mind.  The  mere  existence  of  the  ap- 
petence as  a  tendency  or  disposition  is  not  sufficient  to 
call  forth  feeling,  though  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  ever 
prompting  it,  or  rather  by  the  law  of  association  stirring 
up  the  idea  which  gives  it  a  body.  There  must  always 
be  an  idea  carrying  out  the  appetence  to  call  the  emo- 
tion into  actual  exercise.  If  the  object  be  before  us, 
of  course  we  have  a  perception  of  it  by  the  senses,  or 
•we  are  conscious  of  it  within  our  minds.  If  it  be  not 
present  we  have  a  remembrance  of  it,  or  we  have  formed 
an  imagination  of  it.  That  object  may  be  mental  or 
material,  may  be  real  or  imaginary,  may  be  in  the  past, 
the  present,  or  the  future ;  but  there  must  always  be  a 
representation  of  it  in  the  mind.  Let  a  man  stop  him- 
self at  the  time  when  passion  is  rolling  like  a  river,  he 
will  find  that  the  idea  is  the  channel  in  which  it  flows. 
An  idea  is  as  much  needed  as  a  pipe  is  to  conduct  gas 
and  enable  it  to  flame  ;  shut  up  the  conduit,  and  the  feel- 
ing will  be  extinguished. 

Other  things  being  equal,  the  emotion  rises  and  falls 
according  as  the  idea  takes  in  more  or  less  of  the  appe- 
tible.     I  am  told  that  a  dear  relative  of  mine  has  fallen 


NATURE   OF   THE   IDEA  WHICH   CALLS   FORTH  EMOTION.      43 

from  a  great  height  and  is  dangerously  injured.  I  have 
a  vivid  image  of  that  friend  as  in  deep  distress,  and  I  am 
affected  with  sorrow  and  with  pity.  But  I  am  told  soon 
after  that  the  account  brought  me  is  so  far  mistaken  :  a 
person  had  fallen,  but  he  is  no  friend  of  mine,  and  the 
peculiar  tenderness  of  my  feeling  is  removed.  On  mak- 
ing further  inquiry,  I  find  that  though  he  fell  from  a 
height  he  is  not  seriously  hurt,  and  my  pity  ceases.  Ex- 
amine any  other  case  of  emotion  and  yon  will  always 
discover  an  idea  as  the  substratum  of  the  whole,  bearing 
it  up  as  the  stake  does  the  living  vine.  I  have  come  to 
see  that  a  favorite  and  long-cherished  project  of  mine 
may  possibly  succeed,  and  I  have  a  faint  hope.  As 
events  move  on,  I  find  that  it  will  probably  succeed,  and 
my  hope,  thus  supplied  with  fuel,  kindles  into  a  flame. 
After  a  time  it  becomes  certain  that  I  will  attain  my  end, 
and  I  have  now  a  settled  expectation.  My  scheme  is  at 
last  crowned  with  success,  and  I  have  joy.  But  the 
crown  of  green  branches  placed  on  my  brow  begins  to 
wither,  I  am  exposed  to  blighting  cares,  env}^  and 
trouble,  and  there  remains  nothing  but  the  dead  stock 
of  disappointment.  Emotion  has  thus  as  its  body  an 
idea,  which  determines  the  life  and  growth,  the  decay^ 
and  death,  of  the  inner  spirit. 

The  idea  which  thus  awakens  feeling  is  not  ;m  ab- 
stract or  general  notion.  Pity  is  called  forth  by  the  con- 
templation, not  of  humanity  in  the  abstract,  but  of  sen- 
tient beings,  ourselves  or  others,  exposed  to  suffering. 
The  dread  which  moves  us  is  not  of  evil  in  genei^al,  but  of 
some  individual  evil  or  evils,  such  as  pain,  bereavement, 
ill-usage,  insult,  contempt,  contumely;  emotion  is  excited 
when  we  have  an  idea  of  ourselves  or  others  exposed  to 
these  or  such  as  these.  The  mental  state  is  best  ex- 
pressed by  an  apt  Aristotelian  phrase  which  some  of  us 


44  SECOND  ELEMENT:    THE  IDEA. 

are  seeking  to  revive,  phantasm^^  the  faculty  from  which 
it  proceeds  being  the  phaiitasy.  The  phantasy  presents 
a  picture  of  ourselves  or  otliers,  of  a  man,  woman,  or 
child  in  sorrow,  and  our  commiseration  flows  forth  apace, 
all  this  because  we  have  a  fountain  within,  which,  how- 
ever, needs  an  outlet. 

The  phantasm  must  be  of  an  object  which  addresses 
tlie  appetence  in  the  way  of  gratifying  or  disappoint- 
ing it.  It  must  appeal  to  our  desire  for  pleasure  or  ap- 
plause, to  our  friendship,  or  to  some  one  or  other  of  the 
motives  which  draw  mankind.  There  are  some  springs 
of  action  which  seem  to  sway  all  men,  such  as  the  love 
of  happiness  and  the  desire  to  please.  There  are  others 
which  are  confined  to  classes  or  individuals,  as  the  love 
of  money,  the  love  of  dress,  or  of  a  mother  for  her  boy. 
The  considerations  which  sway  the  people  of  one  age, 
sex,  or  condition,  do  not  necessarily  influence  all  others 
or  any  others.  The  savage  is  not  apt  to  be  interested  in 
refinements,  nor  the  boy  in  abstract  science;  both  require 
to  have  the  taste  created.  Nobody  in  the  company  may 
feel  an  interest  in  that  girl  except  her  lover,  who  watches 
her  every  motion.  Appeals  which  powerfully  affect  cer- 
tain persons  have  no  influence  on  others.  The  tale  of 
distress  which  brings  tears  and  alms  from  this  man, 
meets  with  no  response  from  that  miser  whose  soul  is 
bound  up  in  his  mone}^  bags. 

In  looking  more  particularly  at  the  nature  of  the  ideas 
which  raise  emotion,  it  will  be  found,  I  believe,  that 
they  are  singular,  that  is  of  individual  objects.  I  have 
not  seen  this  position  laid  down  anywhere  ;  but  I  am 
prepared  to  defend  it,  always  with  the  proper  explana- 
tions and  limitations.     It  is  the  phantasm  that  awakens 

1  Aristotle  announced  the  doctrine  I  am  expounding,  in  tlie  language  I 
am  using.    'OpeKTiK6y  St  ovk  avev  (pavraaias.    De  Anima,  iii.  30. 


NATURE   OF   THE  IDEA  WHICH  CALLS   FORTH   EMOTION.      45 

sentiment.  But  all  phantasms  are  singulai".  The  phan- 
tasm of  a  lily  is  of  one  lily.  The  general  notion  or 
concept  of  lily,  that  is  lily  in  general,  is  of  an  indefinite 
number  of  lilies,  joined  by  their  common  type.  There 
is  commonly  a  phantasm  involved  in  the  general  notion, 
but  it  is  of  a  single  one,  stripped  of  as  many  peculiarities 
as  possible,  of  the  individuals  which  constitute  the  class, 
and  the  phantasm  does  not  constitute  the  class,  but  is 
merely  a  sign  or  representative  to  enable  us  to  think  of 
it.  There  are  various  intellectual  operations  involved  in 
the  concept  "  man,"  tiiat  is  man  in  general,  but  the 
image  before  the  mind  is  of  one  man,  with  the  things 
that  distinguish  one  man  from  another  left  out  as  much 
as  possible.  Now,  the  idea  that  evokes  feeling  is  not  of 
humankind  in  the  general,  or  of  humanity  in  the  ab- 
stract, but  of  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in  a  state  of  happi- 
ness or  of  distress. 

But  this  truth,  which  is  a  very  important  one,  requires 
to  be  restricted  and  properly  understood ;  otherwise  it 
will  evidently  be  false.  Under  singular  ideas  are  evi- 
dently to  be  included  collective  ones,  in  which  we  have 
an  aggregate  of  individuals,  as  a  congregation,  an  array. 
In  the  ideas  are  to  be  comprehended  their  associations, 
as  those  which  collect  around  our  birthplace  and  our 
home.  A  man  loves  his  family,  his  village,  his  school, 
his  college,  his  shop,  his  regiment,  his  farm,  his  work- 
shop, his  country,  and  his  church.  Clubs  and  societies 
often  gather  round  them  an  intense  interest.  There  is  a 
sense  in  which  even  abstractions  and  generalizations 
may  call  forth  feeling,  by  reason  of  the  individuals  em- 
braced in  them  and  their  associations,  which  may  con- 
vey their  sentiment  to  that  which  combines  them.  The 
appeals  by  oratoi'S  to  liberty,  to  order,  to  love,  or  to 
religion  may  have  a  stimulating  influence  and  rouse  to 


46  SECOND  ELEMENT:   THE  IDEA. 

action ;  but  the  feeling  is  called  forth  by  the  associated 
ideas  of  persons,  many  or  few,  in  whom  we  feel  an  in- 
terest. It  is  always  the  objects,  and  not  our  intellectual 
separations  and  combinations  of  them,  which  call  forth 
emotion. 1  Whenever  abstractions  become  very  refined, 
or  generalizations  very  wide,  so  as  to  be  utterly  separate 
from  the  objects,  they  cease  to  evoke  feeling,  which 
always  comes  forth  most  vividly  and  strongly  when  the 
living  beings  are  set  before  us  personally,  as  gratifying, 
or  frustrating  an  affection  of  our  nature. 

We  talk  of  mankind  loving  the  beautiful  and  the  good, 
of  their  delighting  in  nature,  and  being  awed  with  the 
sublime.  If  we  understand  these  declarations  simply  as 
general  expressions  of  individual  truths,  they  may  be 
allowed  to  pass.  But  if  we  interpret  them  as  meaning 
that  there  is  emotion  raised  by  the  beautiful,  the  grand, 
the  good,  in  the  general  or  in  the  abstract,  they  leave 
an  erroneous  impression.  No  man  ever  had  his  heart 
kindled  by  the  abstract  idea  of  loveliness,  or  sublimity, 
or  moral  excellence,  or  any  other  abstraction.  That 
which  calls  forth  our  admiration  is  a  lovely  scene,  that 
which  raises  wonder  and  awe  is  a  grand  scene,  that 
which  calls  forth  love  is  not  loveliness  in  the  abstract, 
but  a  lovely  and  loving  person.  That  which  evokes 
moral  approbation  is  not  virtue  in  the  abstract,  but  a 
virtuous  agent  performing  a  virtuous  act.  In  short,  it  is 
not  the  abstract  but  the  concrete,  not  the  generalizations 
of  the  comparative  power,  but  objects  animate  and  in- 
animate, perceived  or  imaged,  which  awaken  our  emo- 
tional nature. 

If  those  views  be  correct  they  furnish  certain  impor- 
tant practical  results. 

1  Aristotle  has  remarked  that  common  notions  (No^/iora)  are  not  witb 
out  phantasms  (ot5/c  &vev  tpavTdfffiaroov).    De  Anim.  iii.  7. 


NATURE   OF   THE   IDEA   WHICH   CALLS   FORTH   EMOTION.      47 

(1.)  We  see  bow  feeling  is  to  be  raised,  either  in  our 
own  breasts  or  in  those  of  others.  Feeling,  it  is  evi- 
dent, cannot  be  compelled.  It  will  not  flow  at  our  bid- 
ding, or  simply  in  consequence  of  a  voluntary  deter- 
mination on  our  part ;  we  may  i-esolve  and  resolve  again, 
but  no  commands,  threats,  or  terrors  will  make  it  unlock 
its  fountains.  And  if  it  will  not  come  from  our  own 
bosom  in  obedience  to  an  order,  still  less  can  we  expect 
it  to  flow  from  those  of  others  because  we  require  it. 
Nor  is  it  suflicient  to  address  the  conscience,  and  to  show 
that  emotion  ought  to  flow ;  for  it  will  rather  delight  at 
times  to  rebel  against  an  imposed  authority.  Are  our 
feelings,  then,  as  some  would  maintain,  beyond  our  con- 
trol ?  Do  they  rise  and  fall  like  the  winds,  how  and 
when  they  list  ?  Do  they  flow  and  ebb  like  the  tides,  in 
obedience  to  impulses,  which  we  can  no  more  rule  than 
Canute  could  command  the  waves  of  the  ocean?  Were 
this  so,  man  would  indeed  be  in  a  most  helpless  condi- 
tion, more  so  than  the  sailor  without  a  rudder  in  his 
ship,  or  the  slave  obliged  to  submit  to  the  caprice  of  his 
master.  But  though  a  man  may  not  be  able  to  com- 
mand his  sensibilities  directly,  he  has  complete  power 
over  them  indirectly.  He  can  guide  and  control,  if  not 
the  feeling  itself,  at  least  the  idea,  which  is  the  channel 
in  which  it  flows.  He  may  not  be  able  to  move  his 
heart  to  pity  by  an  act  of  the  will,  but  he  can  call  up 
a  representation  of  a  sufferer,  and  the  compassion  will 
burst  out.  Or  better  still,  he  can  visit  the  house  of 
mourning,  he  can  enter  the  abode  of  the  poor,  the  sick, 
the  forlorn,  the  outcast,  and  as  he  witnesses  their  misery, 
or  listens  to  their  tale  of  sorrow,  his  heart  —  if  heart  he 
has  —  will  swell  and  heave  with  emotion. ^ 

^  It  was  a  favorite  maxim  of  the  Stoics  that  passion  {irdOos)  depended  on 
opinion  (B6^a)  or  judgment  {Kplais)  —  see  Cicero,  Tusc.  Dis.  iv.  6),  —  and 


48  SECOND  ELEMENT:   THE  IDEA. 

(2.)  "We  see  how  powerless  all  those  systems,  whether 
of  professed  religion  or  morality,  must  be  which  do  not 
set  before  us  a  living  and  a  loving  God,  to  call  forth 
toward  Him  our  feelings  of  admiration  and  affection. 
Pantheism  would  substitute  the  love  of  the  good  for  the 
love  of  God.  We  do  not  purpose,  its  advocates  say,  to 
do  away  with  piety  and  adoration,  we  would  rather 
purify  and  exalt  them :  let  men  be  taught  to  admire 
the  grand,  the  perfect,  the  infinite,  to  love  the  fair,  the 
beautiful,  the  good.  We  might  meet  this  on  the  ground 
that  it  is  setting  aside  the  living  and  the  true  God,  in 
favor  of  a  creature,  or  rather  fiction,  of  the  human  mind. 
But  it  concerns  us  rather  at  present  to  show  that  it  con- 
tradicts some  of  the  essential  principles  of  human  nature. 
The  contemplation  of  the  beautiful  and  the  good,  apart 
from  a  beautiful  and  good  object,  cannot  evoke  deep  or 
lively  emotion;  Unless  we  place  before  the  mind  a  per- 
sonal, a  living,  acting,  benevolent  God,  the  affections 
will  not  be  drawn  towards  Him.  On  the  same  principle, 
the  injunction  or  the  recommendation  of  virtue  in  the 
abstract,  as  was  done  in  so  many  of  the  pulpits  and  by  so 
many  of  the  ethical  writers  of  Great  Britain  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  last  century,  is  found  to  be  utterly  powerless 
upon  the  heart,  character,  and  conduct,  inasmuch  as  it  is 
in  no  way  fitted  to  move,  to  interest,  or  engage  the  affec- 
tions or  any  of  the  deeper  principles  of  our  nature. 

(3.)  Our  doctrine  admits  an  application  to  the  art  of 
rhetoric,  as  showing  how  feeling  is  to  be  excited.     We 

hence  they  drew  the  practical  conclusion,  that  by  judgment  people  could 
reach  the  airadeia  which  the  sect  so  commended.  The  doctrine  contained  a 
truth ;  only  it  was  better  expressed  by  Aristotle,  who  said  affection  implied 
<pdvra(TfjLa.  The  conclusion  of  the  Stoics  did  not  follow ;  for  there  are  ap- 
petences in  our  nature  independent  of  judgment,  and  the  ideas  which 
generate  affections  are  governed  by  associations  which  can  only  be  coun 
teracted  by  other  associations. 


NATURE   OF   THE  IDEA  WHICH  CALLS   FORTH  EMOTION.      49 

are  never,  indeed,  to  neglect  the  more  important  task  of 
enlightening  and  convincing  the  understanding  in  the 
view  of  impressing  the  sensibility.  If  the  judgment  is 
not  convinced,  feeling  will  be  merely  like  the  fire  fed  by 
straw,  blazing  for  a  time,  it  may  be,  to  be  speedily  extin- 
guished, with  only  ashes  remaining.  But  in  order  to 
secure  consideration  by  the  understanding,  or  when  the 
understanding  has  been  gained,  it  may  be  of  advantage 
or  it  may  be  necessary  to  interest  the  heart.  Now  we 
have  seen  in  what  way  the  feelings  are  to  be  gained.  No 
raan  ever  stirred  up  feeling  by  simply  showing  that  we 
ought  to  feel.  Still  less  will  it  be  roused  by  high-sound- 
ing exclamations,  such  as  "how  lovely!"  "how  good!" 
"  how  sublime ! "  Commonplace  orators  shout  and  rave 
in  this  way  without  exciting  in  the  breast  of  those  who 
listen  to  them  any  feeling,  except  it  be  one  of  wonder 
how  they  should  seem  to  be  so  warm  when  they  are  say- 
ing nothing  fitted  to  warm  us.  A  steady  tide  will  be 
raised  only  where  there  is  a  body  like  the  moon  attracting 
the  waters.  He  who  would  create  admiration  for  good- 
ness must  exhibit  a  good  being  performing  a  good  action. 

(4.)  We  see  what  is  the  language  best  fitted  to  raise 
feeling.  For  scientific  purposes  we  are  obliged  to  take 
terms  from  the  Greek  and  Latin  tongues.  But  these  are 
not  fitted  to  raise  emotion  ;  they  always  have  the  stiff 
bearing  of  a  foreign  language,  and  should  be  used  in 
poetry,  moving  oratory,  and  narrative  only  when  neces- 
sary to  give  clearness  and  accuracy  of  thinking. 

I  can  conceive  a  language,  like  the  manners  of  some 
men,  becoming  too  artificial.  This  may  to  some  extent 
be  a  disadvantage  in  scientific  thought,  which  needs  an 
accurate  nomenclature.  But  it  is  to  a  far  larger  extent 
a  benefit  that  language  has  come  down  to  us  from  a 
more  natural  state  of  things,  just  as  the  most  refined 


50  SECOND  ELEMENT:   THE  IDEA. 

circles  are  all  the  better  at  times  for  the  infusion  of  fresh 
elements.  The  best  language  is  that  which  has  both 
kinds  of  phrases,  —  which  retains  the  freshness  of  youth 
in  the  midst  of  the  maturity  of  age.  I  have  observed 
that  the  words  that  have  descended  from  a  more  primi- 
tive state  of  things  are  those  which  occur  to  us  most 
readily  when  we  are  expressing  deep  and  heartfelt 
feeling. 

(5.)  Let  us  guard  the  fountains  of  the  affections,  or, 
in  better  words,  "  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence  ;  for 
out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life."  While  our  knowledge 
of  the  general  laws  which  regulate  man  and  nature  is  ex- 
panded, let  us  take  great  care  that  we  do  not  lose  our  inter- 
est in  individual  scenes  and  persons.  This  double  advan- 
tage can  be  had  only  by  our  retaining  our  natural  tastes 
alongside  of  our  attainments,  and  by  our  returning  from 
these  excursions  into  remote  regions  with  renewed  zest 
to  what  we  should  feel  to  be  the  most  endeared  of  all 
spots,  —  the  home  of  the  affections. 

SECTION  n. 

WORKS    OF    FICTION. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  feelings  are  capable  of 
being  moved  by  imaginary  as  well  as  by  real  scenes. 
People  weep  over  the  distresses  of  the  heroine  of  a  novel 
as  they  do  over  actual  sorrow ;  they  glory  in  the  success 
of  a  hero  on  the  stage  as  they  do  in  the  exploits  of  one 
who  once  lived  on  the  earth.  How  are  we  to  account 
for  this  ?  Do  we  believe  for  the  instant  that  the  scenes 
are  real?  The  common  theory  is  that  we  do  so.  But  is 
it  necessary  to  resort  to  such  a  supposition  ?  It  is  not 
judgment  or  belief  which  stirs  up  emotion,  but  the  phan- 
tasm of  an  object  fitted  to  gratify  or  disappoint  an  affec 


WORKS   OF   FICTION.  51 

tion.  It  is  the  very  idea  of  a  human  being  in  trouble, 
that  raises  pity;  of  a  virtuous  man  triumphing,  that  ex- 
cites admiration.  If  we  have  a  tender  or  sympathetic 
nature  we  cannot  contemplate  a  sensitive  being  as  ex- 
posed to  suffering,  without  being  moved.  What  the 
novelist  does  is  to  present  tlie  picture,  and  the  feeling 
goes  toward  the  object.  He  often  makes  the  representa- 
tion so  vivid  that  it  evokes  keener  excitement  than  the 
common  scenes  of  life.  The  effect  of  the  stage  scenery 
and  the  acting  is  to  make  the  whole  more  lively.  In 
order  to  emotion,  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  need  of 
a  belief  in  a  positive  existence.  All  that  is  required  is 
that  unbelief  do  not  interpose  to  keep  us  from  taking  in 
the  scene.  Hence  it  is  needful  for  the  novelist,  the  au- 
thor, and  the  actor,  to  make  all  the  accompaniments  as 
probable  and  plausible  as  possible,  lest  unbelief  scatter 
the  idea  and  with  it  the  feeling.  I  do  not  know  that 
belief,  the  result  of  judgment,  ever  raises  feeling,  but 
when  it  is  superinduced  upon  an  appetible  idea  it  se- 
cures its  continuance.  I  acknowledge  the  need  of  a  be- 
lief in  the  reality  of  the  vision,  to  keep  the  eye  steady 
and  prevent  it  from  being  distracted  by  the  other  objects 
contantly  pressing  themselves  on  the  attention. 

It  is  to  gratify  the  appetences  of  our  nature  by  means 
of  ideas,  calling  forth  feeling  with  its  excitements  and 
attachments,  that  tales  have  been  invented,  first  recited, 
then  written,  and  then  printed.  People  at  all  ages  of 
life  and  of  all  times  delight  in  such  creations.  Infants 
have  dolls,  which  perform  a  part  in  a  drama  which  they 
are  weaving.  How  eagerly  do  children  listen  to  stories 
by  their  mothers  and  nurses,  and  are  specially  moved  by 
scenes  of  adventure,  like  Robinson  Crusoe,  or  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  or  of  unmerited  suffering,  as  the  Babes 
in  the  Wood.     In  later  years,  people  are  apt  not  only  to 


62  SECOND  ELEMENT  :   THE  IDEA. 

have  night  dreams  but  day  dreams ;  and  many  indulge 
in  building  aerial  castles.  The  rudest  nations  have  their 
myths,  expressing  their  prejudices,  their  prides,  and  their 
revenges. 

SECTION  III. 

ASSOCIATION  OF  EMOTIONS.  —  BURSTS  OF  PASSION. 

Association  of  Ideas  has  been  discussed  in  the  volume 
on  the  Cognitive  Powers.  It  is  admitted  that  our  ideas 
are  associated  according  to  certain  laws,  say  contiguity 
and  correlation  (Vol.  I.  b.  ii.  c.  3).  The  question  is 
started,  Is  there  association  among  our  feelings  also? 
Do  our  emotions,  say,  of  hope  and  fear,  of  sorrow  and 
joy,  also  suggest  each  other  ;  and,  if  so,  according  to  what 
laws  ?  It  will  be  found  that,  while  there  are  associations 
of  feelings,  they  are  of  a  different  kind  from  those  of 
ideas. 

In  order  to  collect  the  exact  truth,  let  us  call  before  us 
the  elements  in  emotion,  and  inquire  how  they  bear  upon 
the  flow  of  feeling.  There  is  the  appetence,  say,  for, 
money  ;  this  is  the  abiding  element  in  the  emotion  and 
gives  it  its  stay  and  stability.  There  is  the  idea  of  some- 
thing appetible  or  inappetible,  say,  of  a  sum  of  money 
being  lost;  this  idea  comes  by  the  occurrence  being  told 
us,  or  according  to  the  laws  of  association  formulated  in 
the  passage  referred  to.  The  idea,  as  disappointing  the 
appetence,  produces  a  repugnance,  followed,  it  may  be,  by 
an  organic  affection,  perhaps  by  the  wringing  of  the  hands. 
It  continues  for  a  time  with  a  succession  of  ideas  bearing 
on  the  loss,  and  each  raising  a  painful  sensation.  This  is 
the  psychological  process.  Let  us  try  to  explicate  it  more 
fully. 

The  appetence  is  the  abiding  principle.  The  idea  of 
an  object  calls  it  forth  and  thereby  produces  feeling. 


ASSOCIATION  OF   EMOTIONS.  53 

But  it  has  been  shown  (Vol.  I.  p.  135)  that  whenever 
there  is  energy  in  an  idea,  the  idea  is  called  forth  more 
readily  and  frequently,  and  in  particular  is  this  so  when 
there  is  an  energy  of  feeling.  Suppose,  then,  that  there 
is  an  emotional  idea,  the  feeling  will  be  apt  to  recall  the 
idea.  In  this  way  the  emotional  state  tends  to  propagate 
itself.  It  diffuses  itself  through  all  the  powers  of  the 
mind ;  it  suffuses  like  thaw  through  our  whole  nature. 

The  nature  of  the  process  is  commonly  modified  by  the 
organic  affection.  It  should  always  be  noticed  that  all 
emotion,  properly  speaking,  begins  within  ;  but  all  our 
stronger  mental  feelings  are  accompanied  with  an  excited 
state  of  the  brain.  When  this  is  called  forth,  it  continues 
for  a  time,  according  to  physiological  laws.  If  the  soul  ia 
moved  by  any  one  emotion,  the  whole  nervous  organism 
is  apt  to  be  affected.  The  roused  brain  reacts  on  the 
mental  train,  and  the  combined  body  and  mind  are  for  a 
time  in  a  state  of  excitement — wave  succeeds  wave. 

Take  the  case  of  a  man  in  a  passion.  He  has  been  in- 
sulted ;  his  honor  is  impugned.  Ideas  rise  up  of  reputa- 
tion damaged,  of  injury  done  him;  these  address  a  nature 
sensitive  about  character,  and  the  corresponding  organism 
is  disturbed;  there  is  a  visible  flush  on  the  face,  the  eyes 
emit  fire,  and  the  whole  frame  is  agitated.  The  con- 
sciousness of  the  man  shows  that  a  series  of  emotional 
ideas  is  moving  on  in  his  mind,  all  directed  to  one  point 
by  the  deep  lying  appetence.  There  are  ideas  Avith  the 
corresponding  feelings  of  humiliation,  of  ill  usage  received, 
of  anger,  of  resentment;  and  plans  of  defence,  of  resist- 
ance, and  revenge,  ai*e  suggested,  and  arguments  to  repel 
the  attack  are  prepared  ;  or,  in  the  case  of  persons  who 
lay  no  moral  restraint  on  themselves,  blows  are  resorted 
to,  or  a  challenge  is  sent.  Or  look  at  this  mother  who 
has  just  had  the  intelligence  brought  her  that  her  son 


64  SECOND  ELEMENT:   THE  IDEA. 

has  perished  at  sea.  There  is,  first,  the  occurrence  real- 
ized with  the  vivid  picture  of  the  dear  son  sinking  in  the 
waters,  gone  from  this  world  to  be  seen  no  more,  pleasant 
memories  of  the  past  coming  up  cruelly  to  torment  the 
present  and  to  darken  the  future.  Along  with  all  this, 
and  continuing  all  this,  is  an  excited  nervous  state,  vent- 
ing itself  in  sobs,  in  tears,  possibly  in  writhings  of  the 
body,  or  in  frantic  tearing  of  the  hair  or  clothes,  and  end- 
ing, it  may  be,  in  prostration  or  in  fainting. 

This  seems  to  me  to  be  the  rationale  of  the  associa- 
tion of  emotions.  Organically,  emotion  puts  us  into  a 
state  of  sensibility,  and  when  in  this  state  every  feeling 
stirred  up  produces  a  greater  perturbation.  The  feeling, 
in  proportion  to  its  intensity,  tends  to  bring  back  the 
idea  at  its  basis  once  and  again,  all  to  renew  the  feeling 
and  the  organic  affection.  Take  the  case  of  the  sorrow 
of  a  widow  who  has  just  lost  her  husband.  At  the  root 
of  the  whole  is  the  deep  affection,  then  an  idea  of  the 
separation  and  the  loss,  and  then  intense  mental  excite- 
ment with  organic  disturbance.  This  is  the  immediate 
sorrow.  As  a  consequence,  the  idea  of  the  loss  comes  up 
again  and  again,  to  renew  the  sorrow.  After  a  season 
there  is  apt  to  be  an  abatement :  first,  from  the  organic 
wave  expending  itself,  so  that  the  mental  emotion  does 
not  so  agitate  it;  and  secondly,  from  new  associations 
springing  up,  possibly  new  affections  formed,  or  old 
affections  strengthened,  say  a  more  intense  devotedness 
of  the  widow  to  the  children  of  the  departed.  If  the 
affection  has  never  been  deep,  the  sorrow  evaporates  in 
this  way,  leaving  nothing  but  a  dry  indifference,  capa- 
ble, like  ashes,  only  of  an  occasional  and  momentary 
kindling.  If  the  affection  has  been  strong,  the  grief  will 
abide  with  the  widow  for  life,  but  it  will  be  less  violent, 
and  will  be  relieved  by  pleasant  reminiscences  and  by 
useful  occupations. 


ASSOCIATION  OF  EMOTIONS.  55 

We  liave  here  a  picture  of  every  other  violent  passion, 
such  as  anger,  or  disappointment,  or  shame,  or  remorse. 
The  nervous  affection  is  excited,  and  then  it  subsides. 
Crowds  of  thoughts,  all  tending  to  feed  the  piission,  come 
up  according  to  that  pi'imary  law  of  coexistence  which 
brings  up  associations  in  groups,  but  are  in  the  course  of 
time  varied,  and,  it  may  be,  dissipated  and  scattered  by 
new  experiences.  We  thus  see  the  advantage,  if  we 
would  abate  passion,  of  keeping  away  from  scenes  which 
might  provoke  it,  and  going — traveling,  if  need  be  — 
into  new  scenes  which  raise  new  associations.  We  ai'e 
accustomed  to  say  that  time  has  wrought  the  change, 
but  in  fact  it  has  been  by  these  mental  and  physical 
agencies  having  had  time  to  work. 

Proceeding  on  this  analysis,  we  can  explain  certain 
mental  phenomena  often  commented  on.  Some  are  vio- 
lently affected  with  grief  or  passion  at  the  time,  and 
soon  lose  ail  feeling ;  while  others,  not,  it  may  be,  so 
ruffled  on  the  surface,  are  as  strongly  moved  in  the 
depths  of  their  hearts  for  long  years  after.  Again,  some 
are  all  feeling  at  all  times,  and  have  perpetual  smiles  of 
benignity  on  their  countenance,  and  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy ever  flowing  from  their  lips,  and  at  times  tears 
trickling  from  their  eyes  —  all,  it  may  be,  perfectly  sin- 
cere at  the  time  ;  but  then  you  cannot  make  them  take 
an  abiding  interest  in  any  one  person,  or  in  the  best  of 
causes.  Whence  the  difference?  It  may  arise  so  far 
from  a  mere  organic  mobility  in  the  one  class  of  persons, 
and  an  inorganic  immobility  in  the  other  class.  But  the 
essential  difference  lies  in  the  circumstance,  that  in  the 
former  there  is  merely  a  surface  rill  of  excitement,  act- 
ing on  an  organic  impressibility,  which  soon  runs  dry, 
whereas  in  the  other  there  is  a  deep  fountain  of  affec- 
tion or  hatred,  ready  to  burst  out,  and  forcing,  when  it 
does  not  find,  a  channel. 


66  SECOND  ELEMENT:  THE  IDEA. 

These  laws  may  enable  us  to  explain  a  well-known 
mental  action.  A  man  promises  to  do  a  certain  act  at  a 
certain  hour.  The  wonder  is,  not  that  he  should  at 
times  forget  it,  but  that  in  ordinary  circumstances  he 
should  remember  it,  and  perform  what  he  intended. 
How  does  it  happen  that  in  the  multitude  of  the  thoughts 
withiu  him  he  should  think  of  the  act  at  the  proper  mo- 
ment and  jjroceed  to  do  it?  The  answer  to  this  question 
will  bring  before  us  a  general  fact  of  our  mental  nature 
which  has  very  much  escaped  the  notice  of  psychologists. 
It  is  that  a  determination  to  do  a  particular  act  may 
reach  forward  in  its  influence  through  a  considerable  pe- 
riod. The  determination  to  awake  at  a  particular  hour 
during  the  night  may  run  through  our  half  conscious 
thoughts  and  enable  us  to  rise  about  the  time  we  wish. 
How  are  we  to  explain  this  ? 

It  is  clear  that  we  must  bring  in  first  the  law  of  men- 
tal energy,  according  to  which,  what  we  have  bestowed 
a  great  deal  of  force  on  is  sure  to  come  up  more  fre- 
quently and  readily.  If  our  resolution  is  formed  loosely, 
without  any  thought  or  earnestness,  it  is  very  apt  never 
to  come  vip  again,  or  come  up  only  after  the  time  for  ac- 
tion is  over.  It  may  be  noticed,  too,  that  if  we  form  a 
purpose  or  give  a  promise  in  the  midst  of  distractions,  or 
when  we  are  eagerly  bent  on  some  other  end,  the  whole 
is  apt  to  pass  away  from  the  mind,  or  to  recur  when  it  is 
too  late.  We  are  most  apt  to  remember  when  our  reso- 
lution relates  to  something  towards  which  we  have  a 
strong  natural  or  acquired  appetence.  It  is  almost  cer- 
tain to  appear  when  it  falls  in  with  our  habits,  or  when 
it  is  associated  with  something  that  must  come  before  us, 
say  with  a  particular  place,  or  hour,  or  occurrence.  The 
lover  is  not  likely  to  forget  the  appointment  he  has  made 
with  the  loved  one,  and  should  he  fail  to  remember  it  it 


SPONTANEOUS   FLOW   OF   THOUGHT.  57 

would  be  taken  as  an  evidence  that  his  affection  was  not 
very  deep.  In  these  cases  all  the  laws  of  association 
combine  to  recall  the  resolution  or  the  promises.  When 
these  do  not  assist  us  our  only  resource  is  to  fix  the 
determination  very  deeply  in  our  minds  and  bring  it  up 
from  time  to  time,  that  it  may  become  more  deeply 
rooted  and  be  made  to  come  up  more  certainly.  All 
such  processes  are  themselves  mental,  but  leave  an  un- 
conscious impress  on  the  brain,  and  thus  favor  the  recol- 
lection, in  a  way  which  physiology  should  try  to  explain, 
but  which  it  cannot  explain  at  this  moment. 

SECTION  IV. 

SPONTANEOUS    FLOW  OF   THOUGHT. 

There  is  a  train  of  idea  and  emotion  which  we  are 
disposed  to  follow  every  given  instant,  impelled  uncon- 
sciously by  deep  underlying  appetences,  natural  and  ac- 
quired, and  flowing  in  the  channels  opened  by  the  laws 
of  association,  intellectual  and  emotive. 

Our  floating  ideas,  not  determined  by  outward  circum- 
stances or  by  some  fixed  purpose,  move  like  clouds  in 
the  sky.  Sometimes  they  are  light  and  fleecy,  and  we 
walk  or  rest  pleasantly  under  them.  Sometimes  they 
are  bright  and  cheerful  like  the  morning  dawn,  and  we 
are  inspired  by  hope  and  incited  to  activity.  Sometimes 
they  are  glowing  and  radiant  like  the  evening  sky,  and 
we  gaze  upon  them  with  delight  and  linger  in  their 
splendors.  At  other  times  they  are  as  chill  as  mists, 
and  our  sensations  are  uncomfortable  and  our  prospects 
dismal.  Or  they  are  dark  and  scowling,  foreboding  rain 
and  tempest,  or  are  ready  to  burst  out  in  thunder  and 
lightning.  Quite  as  frequently  —  indeed  it  is  the  com- 
mon experience  of  most  —  they  are  dull  and  uninterest- 


68  SECOND   ELEMENT:   THE  IDEA. 

ing,  lil:e  a  gray  stream  of  clouds,  sncli  as  I  have  seen  in 
■  Ireland,  floating  whole  days  in  one  direction,  concealing 
the  blue  sky  and  darkening  the  earth  ;  and  we  wish 
to  have  the  exciting  storm  rather  than  this  monotony. 
Much  of  human  happiness  and  misery,  much  of  human 
character  is  determined  by  this  flowing  stream,  just  as 
the  lines  of  ancient  civilization  were  determined  by  the 
great  rivers,  the  Nile,  the  Euphrates,  and  the  Ganges. 
When  the  train  is  pleasant  we  commit  ourselves  to  it 
and  go  on  with  it.  But  then  we  are  liable  to  be  annoyed 
at  any  moment  by  intruders  interrupting  it.  Much  of 
that  fretfulness  which  we  call  temper  ma}-  be  traced  to 
this  source.  No  doubt  there  may  be  other  causes  operat- 
ing. There  may  be  pains,  more  or  less  keen,  arising 
from  disease  or  accident ;  there  may  be  the  loss  of  ob- 
jects on  which  we  set  a  value  ;  but  even  the  annoyances 
thus  produced  may  derive  their  force  from  their  disturb- 
ing a  train  of  earnest,  or  vain,  or  proud,  or  lustful  ideas, 
all  pursuing  their  courses.  A  person,  eagerly  bent  on  a 
favorite  end,  finds  an  untoward  event  coming  across  his 
path,  and  he  bursts  into  a  passion.  Or  he  is  happy  in 
cherishing  a  sense  of  his  own  ability,  or  courage,  or 
worth,  and  there  is  a  remark  made,  which  ruffles  his 
self-complacency,  and  his  manner  is  changed  on  the  in- 
stant. How  unwilling  are  the  gay  and  the  frivolous  to 
be  constrained  to  turn  to  study,  or  to  the  business  of  life, 
with  its  habitual  dullness  and  its  frequent  disappoint- 
ments. The  harshest  sounds  do  not  so  grate  on  the  ears 
listening  to  the  finest  music,  as  these  interruptions  do 
upon  the  easy  flow  of  association.  In  this  way  we  can 
account  for  the  sensitive  aversion  to  certain  scenes  and 
persons  ;  their  appearance  calls  up  unpleasant  scenes  in 
the  past  to  disturb  the  complacent  humor  of  the  present. 
"I  hate  him,  for  he  doth  not  prophesy  good  concerning 
me,  but  only  evil." 


SPONTANEOUS  FLOW   OF   THOUGHT.  59 

When  outward  circumstances  do  not  harmonize  with 
the  inward  train,  there  is  apt  to  be  a  strain  and  a  strug- 
gle. The  girl,  the  boy,  even  the  man,  who  has  been  en- 
grossed with  play  and  amusement,  is  reluctant  to  turn 
to  work  which  requires  a  constant  effort.  Much  of  the 
complaint  of  discontent  in  this  world  proceeds  from  per- 
sons not  being  suited  to  their  surroundings,  from  their 
being  placed  in  positions  which  have  an  entirely  uncon- 
formable shape,  so  that  they  jar  on  each  other  as  they 
turn.  Hence  the  propriety  of  so  far  studying  the  dispo- 
sitions, as  well  as  the  capacities  of  boys  in  the  choice  of 
a  profession  ;  if  there  be  a  strong  taste  there  will  be  the 
risk  of  a  collision  if  it  is  thwarted.  Chatterton,  with  a 
strong  poetical  predilection,  could  not  be  contented  in 
the  shop  of  a  druggist ;  and  David  Hume,  with  a  love 
for  literature  and  reflection,  found  the  study  of  law  to 
be  irksome  in  Edinburgh  ;  and  feeling  mercantile  pur- 
suits to  be  still  more  irksome  in  Bristol,  betook  himself 
to  France  and  to  philosophy.  We  can  account  in  this 
way  for  the  incompatibilities  of  temper  which  often 
manifest  themselves  soon  after  marriage.  There  are  not 
only  the  different  tastes  of  those  thus  thrown  so  closely 
together,  there  are  the  different  and  colliding  lines  in 
which  their  trains  of  association  run.  The  husband 
starts  a  topic  in  which  he  is  intensely  interested,  but  is 
surprised  to  find  that  it  jars  on  the  cherished  ideas  of  his 
wife,  who  becomes  irritated,  and  an  expression  escapes 
her  which  kindles  the  ire  of  her  partner,  or  sinks  him 
into  moody  silence,  or  ferments  his  dissatisfaction  into 
sourness.  In  all  such  cases,  it  will  be  found  that  by 
firm  moral  principle  and  forbearance  the  two  can  have 
their  forms  so  bent  as  to  fit  into  each  other,  —  as  two 
somewhat  discordant  time-pieces  can  be  made  to  keep 
the  same  time  by  being  placed  on  the  same  wall.     Still 


60  SECOND  ELEMENT:  THE  IDEA. 

it  is  better  when  from  tlie  first  there  is  a  correspondence 
of  taste,  —  which  may  not  imply  an  identity,  for  they 
may  conform  all  the  more  when  a  prominence  in  the  one 
fits  into  a  deficiency  of  the  other,  when  light-heartedness 
buoys  up  gravity,  by  which  it  is  balanced  and  kept  from 
leaving  the  earth  and  floating  in  the  air. 

Even  when  the  train  is  indifferent,  or  so  far  painful, 
we  are  apt  to  follow  it,  rather  than  keep  up  a  constant 
fiffht  with  it.  It  is  true  that  the  train  can  so  far  be  in- 
fluenced  by  the  will  detaining  a  present  thought,  which 
may  collect  other  thoughts,  and  in  time  wear  a  new  chan- 
nel. But  in  all  this  we  have  to  resist  the  stream,  and  the 
exertion  is  felt  to  be  laborious,  and  wastes  the  energy, 
and  is  apt  to  be  given  up  because  of  the  irksomeness. 
Even  the  sluggish  monastic  life  comes  to  have  its  attrac- 
tions to  many  as  permitting  an  accustomed  train  which 
is  seldom  disturbed,  and  is  encouraged  by  the  self-right- 
eous spirit  engendered ;  though  I  rather  think  there  are 
cases  in  which,  after  the  depression  which  may  have  led 
the  persons  to  devote  themselves  to  such  a  life  has  passed 
away,  the  old  and  worldl}'^  spirit  awakes  to  take  a  life- 
long vengeance.  The  idle  and  the  vagrant  cannot  resist 
the  temptations  presented  by  the  freedom  they  enjoy  in 
following  their  own  ways.  We  can  thus  explain  what 
has  been  called  the  indulgence  in  melancholy.  The  old 
habit  can  be  thoroughly  conquered  only  by  the  formation 
of  new  habits,  that  is,  by  channels  cut  out  by  the  cur- 
rents coming  in  from  new  quarters.  Let  it  be  observed, 
that  in  all  this  there  are  dominant  appetences  leading  on 
a  train  of  ideas  of  an  emotional  character. 

Very  different  effects  follow  when  the  appetences  tend 
towards  the  unpleasant,  and  the  ideas  in  the  train  are 
painful.  With  some,  especially  those  laboring  under  a 
diseased  nervous  temperament,  the  stream  conducts  from 


SPONTANEOUS  FLOW   OF   THOUGHT.  61 

one  unpleasant  topic  to  another :  the  faces  of  lost  friends 
present  themselves,  they  think  only  of  injuries  done  them, 
of  insults  offered  them,  of  misfortunes  that  have  befallen, 
or  they  picture  coming  woes.  The  endeavor  will  now  be, 
to  be  delivered  from  these  associations.  To  relieve  them- 
selves from  such  pain,  some  betake  themselves  to  scenes 
of  boisterous  mirth,  or  mad  excitement.  In  the  depres- 
sion that  follows  a  period  of  excitement,  persons  are 
driven  to  return  to  their  old  scenes  of  folly.  It  is  thus 
that  the  afflicted  have  to  leave  the  scenes  where  the  mis- 
fortune occurred ;  thus  that  the  wife  has  to  abandon  the 
home  where  her  husband  was  murdered  and  the  youth 
to  forsake  the  locality  where  his  father  disgraced  him- 
self ;  thus  that  husbands  have  murdered  their  wives,  to 
be  rid  of  the  memorials  of  domestic  cruelty  or  of  broken 
vows. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    THIED    ELEMENT    OE    ASPECT:    THE    EXCITEMENT 
WITH    ATTACHMENT    AND    EEPUGNANCE. 

SECTION  I. 

THEIR   GENERAL   NATURE. 

We  have  seen  that  as  the  reservoir  of  all  emotion 
there  is  an  affection  or  an  appetence,  and  that  the  waters 
flow  out  in  a  channel  supplied  by  the  idea.  Let  us  now 
view  the  inward  impulse  as  actually  bursting  forth.  The 
soul  is  now  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  in  a  moved  or 
excited  state.  There  is  a  current,  smooth,  leaping,  or 
troubled,  moving  on  with  more  or  less  rapidity.  There 
is  more  than  excitement ;  there  is  a  feeling  of  pleasure 
in,  or  aversion  to,  the  object  of  which  we  have  an  idea, 
and  which  is  supposed  to  gratify,  or  thwart,  the  motive 
power  of  the  mind.  When  the  object  is  contemplated 
as  good,  or  as  bringing  good,  that  is  as  appetible,  we  are 
drawn  towards  it,  we  feel  an  attachment  to  it;  there  is 
a  glow  of  heart,  a  pleasurable  elevation,  and  we  feel  at- 
tracted towards  that  which  interests  us.  On  the  other 
hand,  when  it  is  regarded  as  evil,  or  about  to  bring  evil, 
there  is  also  an  excitement,  but  it  is  painful  excitement, 
chafing  and  irritating  the  spirit,  and  we  draw  away  from 
the  object,  or  we  drive  it  away  from  us.  There  is  an 
inclination  towards  the  object  in  all  those  emotions  which 
contemplate  the  desirable,  such  as  affection,  hope,  expec- 
tation, and  a  disinclination  towards  all  things  that  frus- 
trate our  wishes,  in  fear,  anger,  disappointment. 


THEIR   NATURE.  63 

It  is  when  it  thus  bursts  out  that  the  affection  falls 
under  the  eye  of  consciousness.  We  are  not  conscious  of 
the  appetence,  as  an  appetence,  of  the  swaying  motive, 
which  lies  deep  down  in  the  soul,  as  the  root  does  in  the 
ground.  Just  as  we  do  not  perceive  by  the  senses  the 
attraction  of  the  moon,  but  notice  it  as  raising  the  tides, 
so  we  do  not  discover  the  power  of  a  motive  till  it  raises 
a  wave  of  feeling.  We  become  conscious,  first,  of  the 
idea,  and  along  with  this,  of  the  excitement  arising  from 
the  attractions  and  repulsions.  We  feel  in  a  moved, 
often  in  an  irritated,  or  agitated,  state,  and  are  impelled 
to  action  which  we  may  allow  or  restrain  as  we  will. 

The  excitement  is  produced,  in  the  first  instance,  by 
the  gratification,  or  disappointment,  real  or  expected,  of 
a  motive.  But  when  it  has  once  been  enjoyed  it  may 
come  to  be  desired  for  its  own  sake.  Some  feel  as  if 
they  could  not  live  without  excitement.  Hence  they 
seek  out  for  scenes  fitted  to  produce  it.  They  may 
search  for  it  in  a  variety  of  quarters :  some  in  the  the- 
atre, some  in  novel  reading,  some  in  the  dance,  some  in 
hunting  or  traveling,  some  in  the  competitions  of  trade 
or  ambition,  some  by  resorting  to  wine  or  other  bodily 
stimulants.  Kept  within  proper  bounds,  and  when  di- 
rected to  proper  objects,  this  love  of  stimulus  may  be 
allowed  ;  it  adds  to  our  enjoyment  and  it  may  dispel 
lassitude,  torpor,  and  ennui,  and  pi'omote  habits  of  ac- 
tivity and  enterprise.  On  the  other  hand,  when  directed 
to  wrong  ends,  or  when  carried  to  excess,  even  in  cases 
in  which  the  employments  are  lawful,  the  taste  may  be 
very  injurious,  wasting  the  time  of  j^outh  when  knowl- 
edge and  habits  of  virtue  should  be  acquired ;  and  when 
declining  life  arrives,  appearing  in  an  unseemly  and  ridi- 
culous frivolity,  or  issuing  in  discontent  and  restlessness. 

The  repulsions  are  as  powerful,  often  as  peculiar,  as 


64       THIRD  ELEMENT:   EXCITEMENT  AND   ATTACHMENT. 

the  attractions.  As  men  and  women  have  personal  af- 
fections and  predilections,  so  they  have  also  prejudices 
and  antipathies,  often  bitter  and  incurable.  They  avoid 
certain  places,  persons,  and  societies ;  they  shrink  from 
certain  pursuits  and  proposals  ;  they  cherish  envy,  ma- 
lignity, revenge,  because  afraid  of  their  pride  being  hum- 
bled, and  their  favorite  ends  being  thwarted.  Some  have 
doubted  whether  the  malignant  passions,  or  the  benevo- 
lent, have  stirred  up  the  larger  amount  of  activity  in  our 
world.  Even  as  courage  impels  some  to  fight  against 
threatened  evil,  so  cowardice  prompts  others  to  make 
great  exertion  to  avoid  it.  If  duty  has,  like  the  bee,  its 
sweets,  it  also  has  its  stings,  and  many  are  thereby  kept 
from  pursuing  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  hatred  of  evil 
in  a  world  where  sin  is  so  prevalent,  and  has  wrought 
such  mischief,  has  called  forth  an  incalculable  amount  of 
energy  in  noble  minds,  and  kept  our  world  from  becom- 
ing an  offensive  and  intolerable  lazar-house. 

The  inappetible  may  be  of  two  sorts.  It  may  be  the 
disappointment  of  a  strong  impulse,  say  ambition,  or 
love.  This  is  one  sense  negative ;  it  arises  from  the 
absence  of  an  object,  but  of  an  object  for  which  there 
may  still  be  a  craving  felt  to  be  painful,  because  it  can- 
not be  gratified.  But  in  other  cases  there  may  be  a 
positive  aversion  to  a  certain  end  or  object,  to  certain 
places,  or  persons,  or  animals.  These  two  forms  are 
closely  related  and  run  into  each  other.  Take  revenge  : 
a  favorite  scheme  has  been  interfered  with,  and  we  take 
up  an  antipathy  to  the  person  who  has  thwarted  us. 
The  sensation  is  a  mixed  one.  There  is  gratification  in 
indulging  the  appetence,  but  the  gratification  is  painful 
as  looking  to  evil  and  not  to  good.  There  is  a  pleasure 
in  wreaking  vengeance,  but  it  is  counteracted  by  pain. 
How  different   from   the   gratification   of   benevolence, 


THEIR  NATURE.  66 

whicli  is  blessed  in  tlie  exercise,  and  blessed  in  the  be- 
neficent result. 

We  can  now  understand  the  nature  of  that  restless- 
ness to  which  we  are  all  liable,  and  which  some  seem  to 
labor  under  perpetually.  It  arises  from  a  variety  of  in- 
consistent impulses  moving  us  at  the  same  time,  or,  more 
frequentl}',  from  a  succession  of  alternating  hopes  and 
disappointments.  We  see  it  in  the  vain  man,  when  both 
praise  and  abuse  are  heaped  upon  him  ;  in  the  ambitious 
man,  now  vaulting  high  and  again  thrown  back;  in  the 
youth  waiting  the  award  of  the  judge  in  a  competition, 
and  the  lover,  now  rejoicing  in  the  sunshine,  and  now 
languishing  in  the  shade.  These  feelings  are  promoted 
by  a  nervous  temperament,  and  almost  always  lead  to 
nervousness.  In  all  cases  there  are  active  molecular  at- 
tractions and  repulsions  which  raise  a  distressinglj'  heated 
atmosphere. 

We  see  how  "  hope  deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick." 
The  heir  feels  it  when  the  owner  of  the  property  lives  so 
long.  The  adventurer  feels  it  when  the  long  planned 
scheme  does  not  succeed.  The  maiden  feels  it  oppres- 
sivel}^  when  the  long  expected  proposal  of  her  lover  is 
not  made.  Why  all  this  ?  Because  the  appetence  craves 
without  being  gratified  ;  and  there  arises  a  discontent 
with  what  is  occurring  because  it  does  not  bring  the  ex- 
pected good.  There  is  a  rumor  of  the  owner  of  the 
coveted  property  dying,  followed  by  his  recovery ;  the 
prospect  of  success  is  darkened  by  a  rising  cloud ;  the 
wooer  calls  but  goes  away  without  proposing.  The  con- 
tinuance may  breed  a  settled  depression  unwholesome  as 
a  pestilential  swamp.  When  it  is  seen  that  the  object 
cannot  possibly  be  gained,  the  heart  becomes  sickened  by 
the  desire  still  clamoring  like  the  appetite  of  hunger 
when  yet  there  is  no  food. 


66        THIRD   ELEMENT:    EXCITEMENT   AND   ATTACHMENT. 

We  see  how  Ennui  is  produced.  Happiness,  as  every 
one  knows,  is  greatly  promoted  by  every  one  having  a 
competent  amount  of  work  in  which  he  is  interested; 
when  every  waking  hour  calls  forth  a  motive,  affords 
room  for  a  habit  to  take  its  course,  and  exercises  an  en- 
ergy. But  when  there  is  no  such  labor  enjoined  or  re- 
quired, there  come  seasons  more  or  less  frequent,  longer 
or  shorter,  in  which  there  is  no  incentive,  or,  more  fre- 
quently, in  which  there  are  motives  confined  like  waters 
in  a  pool  from  which  there  is  no  outlet.  The  result  is 
ennui,  which  is  apt  to  seize  on  those  who  are  without  a 
profession  or  any  pressing  active  employment,  and  which 
is  the  penalty  which  idleness  has  to  pay  for  its  indul- 
gence. All  persons  thus  situated  may  not  fall  into  this 
humor,  because  they  have  strong  tastes  which  carry  them 
into  amateur  amusements,  such  as  reading,  hunting, 
music,  or  painting. ^  The  person  under  ennui,  while  feel- 
ing his  misery,  is  unwilling  to  be  roused  out  of  his  som- 
nolence :  he  has  not  motive  enough  to  overcome  the  vis 
inertice.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  for  such  a  man,  when  some 
unexpected  circumstance,  it  may  be  a  dire  calamity, 
comes  to  startle  him  like  a  thunder-clap,  to  awake  him 
from  his  lethargy,  and  make  him  himself  ngain. 

Much  the  same  experience,  but  with  important  differ- 
ences, is  apt  to  be  realized  by  old  people  wlio  have  given 
up  the  active  pursuits  in  which  they  engaged  for  so  many 
years.  For  a  time  they  feel  the  relaxation  to  be  pleas- 
ant. But  very  soon  their  habits  impel  them  in  their 
old   ways,   only  to   make  them  feel    the  weakness  laid 

1  «  When  I  am  assailed,"  says  Luther,  "  with  heavy  tribuhition,  I  rush 
out  among  my  pigs  rather  than  remain  alone  by  myself.  The  human 
heart  is  like  a  mill-stone  in  a  mill ;  when  you  put  wheat  under  it  it  turns 
and  grinds,  and  bruises  the  wheat  to  flour ;  if  you  put  in  no  wheat  then  it 
grinds  on,  but  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds  and  wears  away.' 


THEIR   NATURE.  67 

upon  them.  The  old  farmer,  the  old  merchant,  the  old 
lawyer,  having  given  up  their  business,  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  enjoying  an  evening  of  peace  after  a  busy  day, 
are  a^^t  to  feel  chagrined  —  if  they  have  not  been  culti- 
vating tastes  which  may  still  be  gratified,  or  if  they  have 
not  heavenly  light  to  irradiate  their  evening  hours  with 
the  hope  of  a  coming  day. 

There  are  various  agencies  at  work  in  the  ordinary 
experience  of  old  age.  There  is  the  constant  opposition 
offered  to  the  mental  energy  by  the  lethargy  of  the  body, 
especially  by  the  immobility  of  the  brain  action,  which 
is  a  necessary  concurrent  in  all  mental  action.  This  pro- 
duces other  effects.  There  is  a  repression  of  the  motives 
and  habits,  which  have  been  in  operation  for  many  long 
years.  Then  there  is  the  inability  to  acquire  new  habits 
and  springs  of  action,  owing  to  the  mind  being  altogether 
preengaged  and  fixed.  The  old  man  is  like  the  ship  left 
high  and  dry  upon  the  beach,  when  the  waters  have  left 
it.  He  sits  in  his  chimney  corner  because  not  able  to 
exert  himself,  or  has  no  motive  to  exei't  himself,  and  he 
becomes  peevish  and  crabbed  when  proposals  are  made 
which  he  knows  he  cannot  execute.  He  lets  the  flow  of 
association  go  on  in  his  mind,  and  he  goes  back  on  the 
past  till  it  becomes  wearisome,  and  would  indulge  old 
tastes,  till  he  finds  that  the  objects  are  rotting ;  and  he 
cherishes  a  sense  of  merit  till  he  is  made  to  see  that  his 
very  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy  rags  which  will  not 
keep  him  comfortable.  All  that  is  now  occurring  pro- 
duces only  a  momentary  interest,  flickering  like  a  dying 
candle.  The  light  that  is  fitted  to  brighten  his  counte- 
nance must  come  not  from  behind,  but  in  front,  ojjening 
to  him  a  better  world. 

As  the  feeling  raised  by  the  idea  of  the  inappetible  is 
painful,   so   we   learn   to   avoid  what   would  excite   it. 


68       THIRD  ELEMENT:   EXCITEMENT  AND  ATTACHMENT. 

There  are  persons  who  studiously  keep  out  of  the  way  of 
every  painful  scene,  who  never  visit  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing, and  who  turn  away  from  distress  of  every  kind. 
This  love  of  ease,  this  determination  to  avoid  all  that 
would  humiliate,  produces  a  character  of  intense  selfish- 
ness. It  is  one  of  our  highest  duties  in  this  world  to 
visit  the  fatherless  and  the  widow  in  their  affliction,  to 
seek  out  distress  in  order  to  relieve  it.  The  Persian 
king  gave  orders  that  no  one  clothed  in  sackcloth,  that 
is,  the  dress  of  mourning,  should  enter  his  palace.  But 
while  he  could  thus  shut  out  those  who  were  sorrowing 
for  the  dead,  he  could  not  shut  out  death  itself;  and  no 
better  preparation  can  be  made  for  that  event  than  by 
sympathizing  with  it  in  others,  in  familiarizing  ourselves 
with  it,  and  comforting  those  oppressed  with  it. 

The  excitement  of  which  I  am  writing  is  to  a  large 
extent  an  organic  sensation,  which  will  be  considered 
under  another  head.  As  such,  it  follows  the  laws  of 
the  organism.  In  particular,  it  is  apt,  after  continuing 
for  a  time,  to  subside ;  the  storm  is  changed  into  a  calm, 
the  flow  becomes  an  ebb  ;  all  this  from  much  the  same 
causes  as  give  fevers  their  allotted  time,  four  days,  or 
ten  days,  or  fourteen  days,  for  rising  and  falling ;  that 
is,  there  is  first  a  combination  of  agencies  attracted  to  a 
point,  and  then  a  dissipation  of  them,  as  they  lose  their 
force.  Every  one  has  experienced  this.  On  the  back 
of  the  height  there  is  a  hollow  which  is  deep  in  propor- 
tion to  the  previous  height.  It  arises  not  so  much  from 
any  special  mental  laws  as  from  the  wasting  of  the  ner- 
vous energy,  whose  concurrence  is  necessary  to  emotive 
action.  This  makes  our  life,  so  far  as  it  depends  on  feel- 
ing, to  be  a  series  of  undulations,  with  rising  and  falling 
waves. 


ACTION  AND  REACTION  OF  FEELING.  69 


SECTION   II. 

ACTION   AND   REACTION   OF   FEELING. 

We  have  seen  (pp.  17-22)  that  every  power  of  the 
mind  craves  for  activity.  But  in  order  to  activity,  or 
rather  accompanying  activity,  there  must  be  change. 
When  one  faculty  has  been  busy  for  a  time,  others  will 
be  apt  to  demand  their  share  of  employment.  When 
the  same  set  of  ideas  have  been  engrossuig  the  mind  it 
likes  to  have  something  new  and  fresh.  The  merchant, 
after  his  day's  toils  are  over,  wishes  music  or  pleasant 
reading  in  the  evening.  The  hard  student  craves  for  a 
novel,  or  for  a  game  of  bowls  or  cricket.  The  pent-up 
citizen  rejoices  when  he  can  from  time  to  time  breathe 
and  muse  freely  on  the  mountain  or  by  the  sea.  So  far 
we  have  mental  laws.  But  the  reaction,  though  in  the 
mind,  proceeds  to  a  large  extent  from  organic  affections, 
to  be  treated  of  in  the  next  chapter.  When  the  concur- 
ring nervous  force  is  becoming  spent  in  the  brain,  mental 
actions  are  performed  with  difficulty,  and  when  it  is  all 
expended  mind  cannot  exert  itself.  I  have  felt  so  ex- 
hausted by  mental  straining  directed  to  a  point,  that  I 
could  scarcely  count  so  far  as  five,  or  name  my  dear- 
est friends.  Whatever  be  the  causes,  the  facts  are  well 
known.  The  waters  laid  up  in  the  reservoir  run  out,  and 
the  machinery  will  not  go  till  a  new  store  collects,  sup- 
plied by  gentle  rain  or  pouring  flood.  In  the  subsidence, 
the  soul  feels  indisposed  to  exertion.  The  lull  after  the 
storm  is  felt  to  be  a  relief.  Quite  as  frequently  the  sen- 
sation is  one  of  lassitude,  of  languor,  and  depression. 
The  vessel  has  no  wind  to  bear  it  on  and  it  is  kept  back 
by  its  own  inertia.  After  a  night  of  somnolence  there 
will  be  an  awaking  in  the  morning,  and  fresh  activity, 


70       THIRD   ELEMENT:   EXCITEMENT  AND  ATTACHMENT. 

provided  always  that  there  is  any  strength  of  intellectual 
or  motive  power.  But  the  time  of  exhaustion  may  be  a 
time  of  trial  or  temptation.  The  courage  which  was  so 
keen  in  the  time  of  passion  has  sunk  into  indifference 
and  apathy,  and  the  man  has  scarcely  enough  of  spirit 
left  to  defend  or  save  himself.  In  the  season  of  relaxa- 
tion, after  victory,  armies  have  lost  all  that  they  gained 
in  the  previous  fight.  In  the  weakness  succeeding  an 
active  struggle,  men  and  women  have  ceased  to  resist 
evil,  have  yielded  to  temptation,  and  abandoned  virtue 
as  a  hopeless  acquisition.  As  it  is  with  individuals  so  is 
it  with  communities,  with  nations.  After  a  time  of  great 
excitement,  religious  or  political,  or  even  mercantile  or 
literary,  there  is  apt  to  be  a  revulsion,  and  people  are 
indisposed  to  exert  themselves  for  any  high  end. 

SECTION  III. 

NATURE   RESTORING   ITSELF. 

This  is  a  familiar  fact.  We  see  it  in  the  spii'its,  re- 
covering after  a  fall.  The  widow  who  has  just  lost  her 
husband  is  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and  feels  as  if  she 
could  never  again  exjjerience  a  moment's  joy  in  this 
world ;  and  in  all  this  she  may  be  perfectly  sincere, 
though  the  world  will  not  give  her  credit  for  it,  when 
they  observe  what  follows.  For  in  a  few  months,  per- 
haps in  a  few  weeks,  other  feelings  rise,  perhaps  new 
attachments  spring  up,  and  she  contemplates  her  loss 
with  nothing  more  than  a  sober  sadness,  and  could  not, 
if  she  wished,  renew  the  poignancy  of  her  first  grief.  In 
what  way  are  we  to  account  for  this  ?  It  is  clear  that 
the  explanation,  if  the  true  one,  must  take  into  account 
those  safety  valves  that  provide  an  outlet  for  crowded 
feeling,  which,  when  it  rises  to  a  certain  height,  has  a 
means  of  flowing  out. 


(' 


TJNIVEE81TYJ) 
NATURE  RESTORING   ITSte.         (cnRMl^-    "^ 

It  is  to  be  accounted  for  partly  by  the  exliaustlon  of 
the  nervous  organism,  to  which  I  have  so  often  referred 
as  being  the  issue  of  excited  feeling.  This  expUiins  how 
the  persons  fall  into  a  relaxed  state  after  the  period  of 
agitation.  But  this  cause  would  not  hinder  the  return 
of  the  great  sorrow  again  and  again,  after  the  prostration 
is  over.  In  order  to  understand  the  process,  we  must 
take  along  with  us  two  other  laws.  One  is  the  natural 
shrinking  from  pain,  and  therefore  from  those  over- 
whelming bursts  which  do  so  agitate  and  distract  the 
mind.  Then,  secondly,  the  association  of  ideas  calls  in 
a  number  of  other  feelings  tending  to  divert  the  mind. 
The  very  departed  friend  comes  to  be  associated  with 
ideas  different  from  the  loss,  and  these,  if  they  do  not  re- 
move the  grief,  tend  to  alleviate  it,  by  mixing  it  with 
other  emotions,  so  that  the  widow,  who  in  the  first  in- 
stance could  not  speak  of  her  departed  husband  without 
a  burst  of  sorrow,  can  now  talk  of  his  kindness  and  of 
his  virtues.  In  matters  fitted  to  awaken  feelings  of 
shame,  the  person  studiously  banishes  the  humiliating 
thoughts  as  effectively  as  possible,  and  seeks,  encourages, 
and  cherishes  ideas  of  a  different  kind,  fitted  to  restore 
the  self-esteem.  It  is  astonishing  how  speedily  persons 
with  no  very  acute  moral  sense  will  outlive  their  deeds 
of  dishonor,  and  mingle  once  more  in  society  with  the 
utmost  self-complacency  and  assurance. 

Let  us  look  at  the  case  of  a  man  who  has  hitherto  sus- 
tained a  high  business  I'eputation  becoming  unexpectedly 
bankrupt,  or  of  a  woman  hitherto  of  pure  character  com- 
mittinsf  an  act  which  brings  her  into  disgrace.  At  first 
the  feeling  of  mortification  is  intense,  and  is  rendered 
more  so  when  there  is  a  sense  of  guilt.  The  s]3irit  is  so 
wounded  tliat  it  feels  it  cannot  bear  it  (Prov.  xviii.  14), 
and  the  torture  must  be  got  rid  of  at  all  hazards.     There 


72       THIRD  ELEMENT:   EXCITEMENT   AND  ATTACHMENT. 

are  means  of  effecting  this.  Time  brings  along  with  it 
new  avocations  and  new  associations  of  ideas,  and  the 
painful  occui"rence  is  remembered  as  seldom  as  possible. 
Excuses  will  present  themselves  and  be  welcomed :  there 
are  others  as  bad  as  they  are,  there  were  palliating  cir- 
cumstances, or  the  acknowledged  faults  should  be  lost  sight 
of  amidst  the  many  virtues  which  are  possessed.  Or  the 
person  may  determine  unblushingly  to  face  the  reproach 
and  defy  the  world,  and  will  find  grounds  for  fighting 
with  old  friends,  or  with  the  community  generally,  and 
this  may  be  persevered  in  till  the  spirit  is  cauterized  by 
the  searing  process  and  becomes  insensible.  In  the 
course  of  time  new  companionships  will  be  formed,  and 
lines  of  defense  set  up  to  stand  the  assaults  of  conscience 
In  the  end  the  guilty  man  or  woman  may  walk  unabashed 
through  the  world,  mortified  only  on  rare  occasions,  when 
the  moral  monitor  is  awakened  for  a  brief  space  from  its 
torpor,  or  when  society  bites  with  its  scorpion  stings. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FOURTH  ELEMENT  OR  ASPECT:  THE  ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

It  is  of  importance  to  place  the  discussion  as  to  the 
organic  affection  at  this  place  rather  than  in  an  earlier 
chapter.  The  mental  emotions  are  not  the  effect,  they 
are  rather  the  cause,  of  the  bodily  movements.  Some 
physiologists  write  as  if  emotion  were  a  sort  of  reflex  act, 
like  the  sneezing  which  follows  the  tickling  of  the  nos- 
trils. This  is  a  very  apposite  example  of  Bacon's  idolum 
specus,  in  which  the  student  of  the  nerves  applies  a  law 
which  he  notices  in  his  own  province,  to  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent class  of  phenomena.  They  speak  as  if,  when  a 
mother  faints  on  hearing  that  her  son  has  been  drowned, 
that  it  is  simply  a  reaction  of  the  mind  evoked  by  the 
intelligence  from  without.  But  the  intellicrence  of  the 
death  as  reaching  the  ear  is  merely  the  mean  —  Male- 
branche  would  call  it  the  occasion  — of  calling  into  action 
the  mental  activity;  the  idea  of  the  son  as  dead,  and  the 
disappointment  of  a  deep  and  long  cherished  affection, 
these  constitute  the  true  cause  of  the  bodily  effects  of 
the  tremor  and  agitation.  In  all  cases  the  emotion  be- 
gins within,  in  an  appetence  or  affection  of  some  kind, 
and  in  the  idea  of  something  to  favor  or  to  thwart  it.  In 
many  cases  there  is  no  external  occasion  to  call  it  forth, 
as  when  the  mother  in  the  midst  of  the  night  awakes, 
thinks  of  her  drowned  son  and  weeps,  or  when  a  man 
sitting  in  his  room  suddenly  recalls  a  past  deed  of  folly. 


74  FOURTH   ELEMENT:    THE   ORGANIC   AFFECTION. 

I.  There  is  a  general  law  as  to  the  soothing  or  irritat- 
ing effects  of  emotion  on  the  body.  When  the  idea  con- 
templates the  good,  that  is,  the  appetible,  botli  the  psy- 
chical and  the  organic  affections  are  pleasant,  less  or 
more.  This  is  the  case  with  contentment,  cheerfulness, 
hope,  and  joy.  On  the  other  hand,  when  it  regards  what 
is  supposed  to  be  evil,  the  sensibility  is  to  a  less  or  greater 
extent  disagreeable.  It  is  so  with  anger,  remorse,  fear, 
and  grief,  under  all  their  forms.  Generally  it  may  be 
held  that  a  moderate  degree  of  emotion  is  favorable  to 
the  health,  both  of  mind  and  body.  It  should  be  ob- 
served, however,  of  all  intense  and  vehement  feeling, 
whether  it  be  painful  or  pleasant  when  in  a  moderate 
degree,  wearies  and  exhausts  the  frame  and  is  <ipt  to  issue 
in  listlessness  and  apathy.  Our  feelings  are  meant  to  be 
breezes  to  waft  us  along  on  the  voyage  of  life,  but  we  are 
ever  to  guard  against  allowing  them  to  rise  into  gales 
and  hurricanes,  to  overwhelm  us  in  depths  from  which 
we  cannot  be  extricated.  By  the  causes  now  indicated 
we  can  account  for  the  reaction  which  commonly  succeeds 
a  period  of  high  excitement,  whether  among  individuals 
or  communities — the  tide  has  run  its  course  and  the  ebb 
sets  in.  It  has  not  been  so  frequently  observed,  though 
it  is  equally  true,  that  among  persons  of  life  and  spirit 
there  is  apt,  after  a  period  of  lassitude,  to  be  a  reawak- 
ening, and  a  craving  for  enterprise  which  searches  for  a 
channel  in  which  to  flow,  and  will  find  an  outlet.  The 
hungry  lion  will  not  more  certainly  go  forth  in  search 
of  prey  than  the  man  who  has  any  force  of  character 
will,  after  a  period  of  relaxation,  be  impelled  to  set  out 
on  new  activities. 

Hygiene  takes  advantage  of  this  law,  and  will  profit 
by  it  more  and  more  as  science  advances.  The  physi- 
cian should,  in  the  first  place,  seek  to  put  and  keep  in  a 


SOME  EMPIRICAL  LAWS.  75 

healthy  state  those  organs  of  the  body  whose  derange- 
ment affects  the  mind,  such  as  the  heart,  which  tt^nds  to 
make  us  excitable,  the  stomach,  which  produces  irritation, 
and  the  liver,  which  inclines  to  melancholy.  This  may 
often  be  done  by  appropriate  medicines.  In  healing 
these  organs  we  sootlie  the  temper  and  prevent  the  rise 
of  other  diseases.  When  children  are  cross-tempered 
the  nurse  gives  them  a  dose  of  medicine.  But  secondly, 
and  more  especially,  the  physician  should  endeavor  to 
raise  tliose  feelings  which  give  stimulus  to  the  frame, 
such  as  hope,  which  casts  sunshine  on  the  landscape  and 
stirs  up  motives  which  lead  to  exertion  and  activity;  and 
take  all  pains  to  remove  those  affections  which  tend  to 
depress  and  to  sink  the  soul  into  inactivity. 

II.  While  we  cannot  at  present  specify  scientifically 
the  influence  exercised  on  the  body  by  the  various  kinds 
of  emotion,  we  can  enumerate  a  few  laws,  chiefly  of  an 
empirical  character,  full  of  interest  and  importance. 

The  emotions  through  the  nerves  act  particularly  on 
the  heart  and  lungs,  and  thence  on  the  organs  of  breath- 
ing, the  nerves  of  which  spread  over  the  face,  which 
may  thus  reveal  the  play  of  feeling.  Every  sudden  emo- 
tion quickens  the  action  of  the  heart  and  consequently 
the  respiration,  which  may  produce  involuntary  motions. 
If  our  organs  of  respiration  and  circulation  had  been  dif- 
ferent our  expression  would  also  have  been  different. 
"Dr.  Beaumont  had  the  opportunity  of  experimenting 
for  many  months  on  a  person  whose  stomach  was  ex- 
posed to  inspection  by  accident,  and  he  states  that  men- 
tal emotion  invariably  produced  indigestion  and  disease 
of  the  lining  membrane  of  the  stomach  —  a  sufficient 
demonstration  of  the  direct  manner  in  which  the  mind 
may  disorder  the  blood."  ^  Certain  emotions,  such  as 
1  Moore  on  The  Power  of  the  Soul  over  the  Body,  p.  iii.  ch.  viii. 


76  FOURTH  ELEMENT:   THE   ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

sudden  fear,  increase  the  peristaltic  action,  whereas  anx- 
iety and  grief  diminish  it.  Sorrow  of  every  kind,  sym- 
pathy, and  pity  act  on  the  bowels.  All  strong  passions 
are  apt  to  make  the  muscles  tremble;  this  is  especially 
the  case  with  all  aggravated  forms  of  fear,  with  terror 
and  rage,  but  is  also  so  with  anger,  and  even  joy.  The 
action  of  the  heart  is  increased  by  anger.  In  fear,  the 
blood  is  not  transferred  with  the  usual  force.  Settled 
malice  and  envy  give  rise  to  jaundice,  it  is  said,  by  caus- 
ing the  matter  secreted  to  be  reabsorbed  into  the  capil- 
lary blood-vessels  of  the  liver,  instead  of  being  carried 
out  by  the  branches  of  the  bile-duct.  The  idea  of  the 
ludicrous  raises  a  mental  emotion  which  bursts  out  in 
laughter ;  grief  finds  an  outlet  in  tears.  Complacency 
with  those  we  converse  with  is  manifested  in  smiles. 
We  read  in  various  languages,  of  lightness  of  heart,  of 
the  paleness  of  fear,  of  the  breathlessness  of  surprise, 
of  the  trembling  with  passion,  of  bowels  of  compassion,  of 
the  jaundiced  eye  of  envy,  and  all  these  figures  embody 
truths  recognized  in  universal  experience.  It  is  a  curi- 
ous circumstance  that  young  infants  do  not  shed  tears, 
though  they  utter  screams  and  fall  into  convulsions. 
These  last  are  the  effects  of  pain,  but  they  do  not  shed 
tears  till  they  have  an  emotion,  with  its  idea  of  the  ap- 
petible  and  inappetible. 

III.  Sir  Charles  Bell  has  shown,  in  the  "Anatomy  of 
Expression,"  how  close  and  extensive  is  the  connection 
of  the  organs  that  sustain  life  and  the  muscular  system 
of  the  face,  neck,  and  chest.  The  heart  and  lungs  are 
united  by  nerves,  and  work  in  unison.  They  have  no 
feeling  when  Ave  touch  them,  yet  they  are  alive  to  the 
proper  stimulus  and  they  suffer  from  the  slightest  change 
of  position  or  exertion.  They  are  also  affected  by  the 
changes,  and  especially  the  emotions,  of  the  mind.    They 


SOME  EMPIRICAL  LAWS.  77 

act  on  the  respiratory  organs,  which  have  numerous 
nerves  in  the  throat,  windpipe,  tongue,  lips,  and  nostrils. 
There  is  a  class  of  nerves  appropriated  to  "  respiration." 
These  nerves  arise  in  the  same  part  of  the  brain.  The 
great  nerve  descends  into  the  chest  to  be  distributed  to 
the  heart  and  lungs,  and  the  others  extend  to  the  ex- 
terior muscles  of  the  chest,  neck,  and  face.  "  Thus  the 
frame  of  the  body,  constituted  for  the  support  of  the  vital 
functions,  becomes  the  instrument  of  expression  ;  and  an 
extensive  class  of  passions,  by  influencing  the  heart,  by 
affecting  that  sensibility  which  governs  the  muscles  of 
respiration,  calls  them  into  operation  so  that  they  become 
an  undeviating  mark  of  certain  states  or  conditions  of 
the  mind.     They  are  the  organs  of  expression." 

He  then  shows  that  emotions  by  the  action  of  the 
muscles  chiefly  affect  "  the  angles  of  the  mouth  and  the 
inner  extremity  of  the  eyebrow ;  and  to  these  poiuts  we 
must  principally  attend  in  all  our  observations  concern- 
ing the  expression  of  passion.  They  are  the  most  mov- 
able parts  of  the  face ;  in  them  the  muscles  concentre, 
and  upon  the  changes  which  they  undergo  expression  is 
acknowledged  chiefly  to  depend.  To  demonstrate  their 
importance  we  have  only  to  repeat  the  experiment  made 
by  Peter  of  Cortona :  to  sketch  a  placid  countenance  and 
touch  lightly  with  the  pencil  the  angle  of  the  lips  and 
the  inner  extremity  of  the  eyebrows.  By  elevating  or 
depressing  these  we  shall  quickly  convey  the  expression 
of  grief  or  of  laughter." 

At  this  point  Darwin  takes  up  the  subject  in  his  "Ex- 
pression of  the  Emotions  "  :  "  We  have  all  of  us  as  in- 
fants repeatedly  contracted  our  orbicular  corrugator  and 
pyramidal  muscles,  in  order  to  protect  our  ej^es  while 
screaming  ;  our  progenitors  have  done  the  same  daring 
many  generations  ;  and  though  with  advancing  years  we 


78  FOURTH   ELEMENT  :   THE   ORGANIC   AFFECTION. 

easil}"^  prevent,  when  feeling  distressed,  the  utterance  of 
screams,  we  cannot  from  long  habit  always  prevent 
a  slight  contraction  of  the  above-named  muscles;  nor 
indeed  do  we  observe  the  contraction  in  ourselves,  or  at- 
tempt to  stop  it,  i£  slight.  But  the  pyramidal  muscles 
seem  to  be  less  under  the  command  of  the  will  than  the 
other  related  muscles  ;  and  if  they  be  well  developed 
their  contraction  can  be  checked  only  by  the  antagonis- 
tic contraction  of  the  central  fascise  of  the  frontal  mus- 
cle. The  result  which  necessarily  follows,  if  these  fasciae 
contract  energetically,  is  the  oblique  drawing  up  of  the 
eyebrows,  the  puckering  of  their  inner  ends,  and  the  for- 
mation of  rectangular  furrows  on  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
head." He  goes  on  to  say  that  the  depression  of  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  is  effected  by  the  depressores  anguli 
oris.  "  The  fibres  of  this  muscle  diverge  downwards, 
with  the  upper  convergent  ends  attached  round  the  an- 
gles of  the  mouth  and  to  the  lower  lip,  a  little  way 
within  the  angles."  "  Through  steps  such  as  these  we 
can  understand  how  it  is  that  as  soon  as  some  melan- 
choly thought  passes  through  the  brain  there  occurs  a 
just  perceptible  drawing  down  of  the  corners  of  the 
mouth,  or  a  slight  raising  up  of  the  inner  ends  of  the 
eyebrows,  or  both  movements  combined,  and  immedi- 
ately afterwards  a  slight  suffusion  of  tears."  ^ 

IV.  Mr.  Darwin,  by  his  own  observations,  and  by  the 
answers  given  to  queries  which  he  issued  as  to  tlie  vari- 
ous races  of  mankind,  especially  those  who  have  fissoci- 
atcd  but  little  with  Europeans,  seems  to  have  established 
the  following  points,  some  of  them,  perhaps,  only  pro- 
visionally and  partially.  Astonishment  is  expressed  by 
the  eyes  and  mouth  being  opened  wide,  and  by  tlie  eye- 
brows being  raised.     Shame  excites  a  blush  when  the 

^  Expression  of  Emotions,  ch.  vii. 


SOME   EMPIRICAL   LAWS.  79 

color  of  the  skin  allows  it  to  be  visible.  When  a  man 
is  indignant  or  defiant  he  frowns,  holds  his  body  and 
head  erect,  squares  his  shonlders,  and  clinches  his  fists. 
When  considering  deeply  on  any  subject,  or  tryiiig  to 
understand  any  puzzle,  he  is  apt  to  frown  and  wrinkle 
the  skin  beneath  the  lower  eyelids.  When  in  low  spirits 
the  corners  of  the  mouth  are  depressed,  and  the  inner 
corner  of  the  eyebrows  are  raised  by  that  muscle  which 
the  French  call  the  "grief  muscle."  The  eyebrow  in 
this  state  becomes  slightly  oblique,  with  a  little  swell- 
ing at  the  inner  end  ;  and  the  forehead  is  transversely 
wrinkled  in  the  middle  part,  but  not  across  the  whole 
breadth,  as  when  the  eyebrows  are  raised  in  surprise. 
When  persons  are  in  good  spirits  the  eyes  sparkle,  the 
skin  is  a  little  wrinkled  round  and  under  them,  and  the 
mouth  a  little  drawn  back  at  the  corners.  When  a  man 
sneers  or  snarls  at  another  the  corner  of  the  upper  lip 
over  the  canine  or  eye  tooth  is  raised  on  the  side  facing 
the  man  whom  he  addresses.  A  dogged  or  obstinate 
expression  may  often  be  recognized,  being  chiefly  shown 
by  the  mouth  being  firmly  closed,  by  a  lowering  brow, 
and  a  slight  frown.  Contempt  is  expressed  by  a  slight 
protrusion  of  the  lips  and  by  turning  up  the  nose  with 
a  slight  expiration.  Disgust  is  shown  by  the  lower  lip 
being  turned  down,  the  upper  lip  slightly  raised,  with  a 
sudden  expiration  something  like  incipient  vomiting,  or 
like  something  spit  out  of  the  mouth.  Laughter  may  be 
carried  to  such  an  extreme  as  to  bring  tears  into  the 
eyes.  When  a  man  wishes  to  show  that  he  cannot  pre- 
vent something  being  done,  or  cannot  himself  do  some- 
thing, he  is  apt  to  shrug  his  shoulders,  turn  inwards  his 
elbows,  extend  outwards  his  hands,  and  open  the  palms, 
with  the  eyebrows  raised.  Children  when  sulky  are  dis- 
posed to  pout,  or  greatly  protrude  the  lips.     The  head  is 


80  FOUKTH   ELEMENT:   THE   ORGANIC   AFFECTION. 

nodded  vertically  in  aflarmation,  and  shaken  laterally  in 
negation. 

V.  The  expressions  have  commonly  been  produced,  in 
the  first  instance,  by  the  emotions  of  which  they  are  the 
effect,  and  commonly  the  sign ;  and  whenever  the  like 
feeling  arises,  the  expression  will  follow,  by  the  law  of 
association.  In  the  first  instance,  and  it  may  be  for  a 
time,  the  action  of  the  emotion  had  a  purpose,  it  may  be 
to  protect  or  ward  off  danger,  or  meet  opposition,  now  it 
is  continued  after  the  meaning  has  gone.  A  man  walk- 
ing along  the  edge  of  a  precipice  leans  away  from  it  lest 
he  fall ;  and  he  will  be  apt  to  take  the  same  posture  when 
the  precipice  is  so  guarded  that  there  is  no  longer  danger. 
The  screams  of  terror  may  first  have  been  uttered  to  call 
in  assistance,  now  they  come  forth  when  no  assistance  is 
at  hand,  or  none  is  needed.  The  shout  on  the  occasion 
of  a  happy  occurrence  may  at  first  have  been  intended  to 
convey  the  glad  tidings  to  others,  now  it  is  the  natural 
expression  of  a  crowd  when  it  is  gratified.  Anger  and 
rage  in  children,  and  in  primitive  states  of  society,  agi- 
tated the  whole  frame  and  led  to  blows ;  it  still  rouses 
the  bod}'-  and  reddens  the  countenance,  though  it  does 
not  culminate  in  fighting.  These  expressions  may  be- 
come hereditary ;  this,  however,  because  they  have  formed 
cei'tain  lines  in  which  nervous  enei'gy  flows.  There  are 
acts  done,  and  attitudes  assumed,  which  may  have  come 
down  from  a  remote  ancestry,  and  telling  of  primitive 
manners.  But  it  should  be  observed  that  there  is  mental 
as  well  as  organic  action  in  all  this  ;  in  the  expression, 
actions  were  first  called  forth  by  emotions  of  the  mind, 
and  are  now  called  forth  by  a  like  emotion.  As  Darwin 
expresses  it,  "  whenever  the  same  state  of  mind  is  in- 
duced, however  feebly,  there  is  a  tendency,  through  the 


SOME  EMPIRICAL  LAWS.  81 

force  of  habit  and  association,  for  the  same  movements 
to  be  performed."  ^ 

VI.  We  see  what  truth  there  is  in  physiognomy.  It 
does  not  appear  that  the  dispositions  and  character  can 
be  known  by  the  shape  or  size  of  any  muscle  or  bone,  say, 
as  has  been  vulgarly  supposed,  by  the  lines  on  the  palms 
of  the  hand,  or  the  form  of  the  nose,  or  the  curlings  of 
the  ear.  But  the  emotions  affect  the  nerves  which  leave 
their  mark  on  the  face  and  gait.  According  to  Bell,  "  In 
all  the  exhilarating  emotions,  the  eyebrows,  eyelids,  the 
nostrils,  and  the  angles  of  the  mouth  are  raised.  In  the 
depressing  passions  it  is  the  reverse."  Darwin  adds, 
"  under  the  influence  of  the  latter  the  brow  is  heavy,  the 
eyelids,  cheeks,  mouth,  and  whole  head  droop ;  the  eyes 
are  dull,  the  countenance  pallid,  and  the  respiration  slow. 
In  joy  the  face  expands,  in  grief  it  lengthens."  There 
are  other  signs  which  are  natural,  and,  unless  repressed, 
universal.  The  leaning  forward  of  the  body  denotes  in- 
terest in  the  person  or  object.  The  nodding  of  the  head 
is  understood  as  assent.  On  the  other  hand,  the  turning 
of  the  body  or  of  the  head  expresses  aversion  or  denial. 
The  frown  on  the  brow  indicates  displeasure.  Fire  in 
the  eye,  color  in  the  cheek,  agitation  in  the  frame,  witb 
the  clinched  fists,  are  signs  of  anger.  Blushing  on  the 
face  and  neck  arise  from  shame,  that  is,  from  a  sensitive- 
ness about  the  opinions  of  others,  particularly  as  regards 
one's  person,  and  in  regard  to  decency.  A  suffused  eye 
is  a  sign  of  pity.  A  softened  eye,  with  a  swelling  bosom, 
is  a  mark  of  love.  A  stiff,  upright  head  and  figure  is 
often  an  indication  of  pride.  Relaxed  features  are  the 
issue  of  weariness,  inclined  to  repose.  The  drawing  up  or 
snuffing  of  the  nostrils  exhibits  disgust,  the  same  as  is 
produced  by  an  offensive  smell.  The  smooth  counte- 
1  Expression  of  the  Emotions,  ch.  L 


82     FOURTH  ELEMENT  :  THE  ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

nance  implies  contentment,  except  tlie  person  be  a  hypo- 
crite. Kneeling  is  an  appropriate  attitude  of  submission 
to  a  superior.  The  upturned  eye  is  a  symbol  of  a  soul 
looking  to  heaven  in  adoration.  By  such  causes  as  these 
there  are  persons  "  whose  heart  is  in  their  face."  The 
prevailing  passions,  say  benevolence,  or  good-nature,  or 
malignity,  or  sourness,  or  dejection,  or  sorrow,  or  timid- 
ity, or  self-humiliation,  or  lust,  or  haughtiness,  produce 
an  impression  and  expression  which  can  be  noticed  and 
read  by  the  practiced  eye.  Persons  gifted  with  shrewdness, 
and  who  have  mingled  much  with  the  world,  are  thus  able, 
witli  amazing  accuracy,  and  at  first  sight,  as  if  by  instinct, 
by  really  but  lengthened  observation,  to  guess  at  the  char- 
acter or  present  mental  frame  of  those  they  meet  with. 
VII.  It  should  be  noticed  that  while  pleasure  and  pain 
are  very  different  from  emotions,  yet  they  ma}^  and  often 
do,  mingle  with  each  other.  I  have  remarked  that  the 
emotions  looking  to  the  good  are  pleasant,  and  the  pleas- 
ure intensifies  the  emotion,  say  of  hope  and  joy,  and  we 
enjoy  and  seek  to  prolong  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
emotions  that  contemplate  the  evil  are  always  more  or 
less  painful,  and  the  pain  may  mix  with  and  increase  the 
affection.  We  have  a  vivid  picture  of  bodily  pain  by  Sir 
C.  Bell :  "  The  jaws  are  fixed  and  the  teeth  grind ;  the 
lips  are  drawn  laterally,  and  the  nostrils  dilated ;  the 
eyes  are  largely  uncovered,  and  the  lips  raised ;  the 
face  is  surged  with  blood,  and  the  veins  of  the  temple  and 
forehead  distended  ;  the  breath  being  checked,  and  the 
descent  of  blood  from  the  head  impeded  by  the  agony  of 
the  chest,  the  cutaneous  muscle  of  the  neck  acts  strongl}^, 
and  draws  down  the  angles  of  the  mouth.  But  when 
joined  to  this  the  man  cries  out,  the  lips  are  retracted, 
and  the  mouth  open  ;  and  we  find  the  muscles  of  his  body 
rigid,  straining,  struggling."     Now,  as  all  the  affections 


SOME   EMPIRICAL   LAWS.  83 

that  arise  from  the  idea  of  evil,  especially  all  the  malign 
affections,  produce  pain,  we  find  the  sensation  mingling 
and  acting  with  the  passion,  and  the  result  may  be  a 
terrible  struggle,  such  as  we  see  in  Laocoon,  and  often  in 
the  wounded  or  mmdered  man.  The  fight  with  the  suf- 
fering often  adds  intense  violence,  such  as  writhing  and 
blows,  to  the  proper  action  of  the  passion. 

VIII.  But  bodily  effects  may  be  produced  not  only  by 
real,  but  by  imaginary  objects.  We  have  seen  that  every 
emotion  implies  an  idea.  This  idea  is  very  often  of  a 
sensible  object,  that  is,  of  an  object  made  known  to  us 
by  the  senses.  Now  it  seems  to  be  pretty  well  estab- 
lished that  there  are  organs  of  the  brain  necessary  in 
order  to  the  perception  of  material  objects.  Smell,  as  a 
psychical  act,  is  not  in  the  nostrils,  nor  hearing  in  the 
ear,  nor  touch  in  the  nerves,  nor  vision  in  the  eye.  There 
is  need  of  a  cerebral  action  in  order  to  a  conscious  sensa- 
tion, and  in  order  to  a  perception  of  the  objects.  It  is 
very  generally  acknowledged  that  the  senses  may  have  a 
common  centre  of  sensation,  a  sensorium  in  the  brain,  or 
more  jarobably,  that  each  cense  has  a  local  centre.  Phys- 
iologists are  not  quite  agreed  as  to  what  these  centres 
are.  It  is  enough  for  our  present  purpose  that  there  is 
either  a  general  centre,  or  that  there  are  special  centres. 

But  this  is  not  the  point  which  it  is  necessary  for  us  to 
establish.'  There  is  a  further  truth  apj^roximately  and 
provisionally  determined.  It  is  that  the  organ  of  the 
brain  necessary  to  our  having  a  perception  of  the  object 
is  also  necessary  to  our  reproducing  it  as  a  phantasm,  in 
memory  or  imagination.  Thus:  suppose  that  there  is  an 
organ  of  vision  in  the  tJialami  optiei,  or  more  probably, 
farther  up  in  the  cerebrum,  this  organ  is  needed  not  only 
to  give  us  the  original  figure,  say  the  form  of  our  mother, 
but  is  needed  in  order  to  our  being  able  to  call  up  her 


84  FOURTH  ELEMENT  :   THE   ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

image  and  to  think  of  her  when  she  is  absent.  The  same 
remark  applies  to  all  the  other  senses ;  we  need  the  audi- 
tory organ  to  recall  a  sound,  and  the  organ  of  taste  and 
smell  to  recall  flavors,  and  of  feeling  to  image  tactual 
impressions,  and  of  the  muscular  sense  to  think  of  ob- 
jects in  motion.!  But  we  have  seen  that  when  ideas  are 
of  objects  appetible  or  inappetible  they  stir  up  emotion. 
We  have  here  a  glimpse  of  the  way  in  which  the  feel- 
ings work  in  the  brain.  The  idea  which  evokes  the  feel- 
ing, and  is  its  substratum,  works  in  the  cerebrum;  and 
the  excitement  produced,  like  the  original  sensation,  may 
be  partly  mental  and  partly  bodily.  The  bodily  excite- 
ment, often  rising  to  agitation,  is  very  manifest,  and 
is  seen  in  nervous  movements,  in  changes  of  color,  in 
paleness  and  redness  of  countenance,  in  blushing  and  in 
trembling,  in  laughter  and  in  tears.  It  is  the  office  of 
psychology  to  unfold  the  emotions ;  it  is  the  business  of 
physiology  to  trace  the  bodily  affections  from  the  brain 
downwards  to  the  nerves  and  fibres. 


^  Professor  Ferrier,  in  Functions  of  the  Brain,  has  been  successful  in 
showing  that  there  are  organs  of  the  brain  which  are  the  centres  of,  or  at 
least  are  somehow  concerned  with,  the  sensations  and  perceptions  given 
by  the  different  senses.  The  organic  or  visceral  sensations  are  felt  in  the 
occipital  lobes,  towards  the  lower  periphery.  Smell  and  taste  need  the 
suhicidiim  cornu  ammonis.  Touch  is  felt  in  the  hippocampal  region.  Sight 
has  an  organ  in  the  gyrus  angularis.  Hearing  has  its  centre  in  the  supe- 
rior-lemporo  sphenoidal  convolution.  All  these  centres  are  rather  in  the  back 
part  of  the  brain,  which  seems  the  organ  of  sensation.  The  centres  of 
motion  seem  to  be  in  the  frontal  regions,  which  are  the  organs  of  intelli- 
gence and  will.  I  think  we  have  evidence  that  when  we  are  recalling  or 
imaging  any  object  originally  perceived  by  the  senses  we  need  the  con- 
currence of  the  corresponding  centres  of  the  brain  :  of  the  visceral  centre 
before  we  can  conceive  of  an  object  of  appetite  ;  of  the  taste  and  smell  cen- 
tres before  we  can  conceive  of  an  odor ;  of  the  centre  of  touch  in  order  to 
conceive  of  the  feeling  objects ;  of  the  centre  of  seeing  in  order  to  our 
conceiving  colors  and  visible  forms ;  and  of  the  centre  of  hearing  in  order 
to  our  conceiving  bodies  as  sounding. 


SOME  EJIPIRICAL  LAWS.  86 

It  is  possible  that  when  a  sensible  object  raises  emo- 
tion the  action  proceeds  from  the  cerebral  centres  of  per- 
ception down  upon  the  motor  nerves,  and  tlience  upon 
the  bodily  frame  generally.  It  seems  almost  certain  that 
this  is  so  when  the  object  raising  the  emotion  is  not  pres- 
ent, and  when  we  have  merely  an  idea  of  it.  The  idea, 
let  me  suppose,  is  of  an  appetible  object.  The  mother  is 
eagerly  expecting  the  return  of  a  son,  after  an  absence 
of  years.  The  son,  at  a  distance,  knows  that  his  mother 
is  dying  and  may  expire  any  instant.  The  widow  is 
thinking  of  her  lately  departed  husband.  We  recall  the 
spot  in  which  we  saw  a  dear  friend  killed.  We  cannot 
forget  the  shriek  which  came  from  a  man  in  agony.  Or, 
using  a  very  different  sense  organ,  we  have  a  remem- 
brance of  a  pool  with  offensive  odor.  The  murderer  has 
a  vivid  image  before  him  of  the  murdered  man,  of  his 
writhing,  and  of  his  wounds.  In  many  such  cases  the 
mental  idea  seems  to  have  much  the  same  effect  on  the 
organ  of  perception  as  the  very  presence  of  the  object 
would  have. 

The  idea  of  an  emotional  object,  that  is,  of  an  object 
raising  emotion,  may  become  visible  in  the  bodily  frame 
and  on  the  countenance.  A  smile  appears  on  the  moth- 
er's face  when  she  sees  her  child  playing,  and  there  will 
be  a  tendency  to  a  like  smile  when  she  merely  imagines 
him  to  be  happy.  A  sadness  will  gather  and  settle  on 
the  countenance  of  a  father  grieving  over  the  loss  of  a 
son.  Cherished  lust  will  come  forth  in  a  bloated  counte- 
nance. You  may  often  discover  the  nature  of  the  feel- 
ings by  the  play  upon  the  features  of  one  who  is  walking 
or  seated  in  a  room  without  being  conscious  of  any  eye 
being  fixed  upon  him.  You  may  often  know  whether 
business  is  prospering  or  not  by  the  expression  on  the 
merchant's  countenance.    You  may  discover  whether  the 


86  FOURTH   ELEMENT  :    THE   ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

news  conveyed  by  a  letter  received  is  good  or  bad,  by 
the  look  of  the  reader. 

As  with  real  so  with  imaginary  scenes.  We  often  see 
pleasure  or  terror  expressed  on  the  countenance  when 
persons  are  dreaming.  As  with  night-dreams  so  with 
day-dreams,  the  face  and  the  whole  frame  may  be  af- 
fected by  them.  There  may  be  sighs  drawn  forth,  or 
tears  shed,  or  laughter  bursting  out,  by  the  pictures  in 
a  novel,  or  the  creations  of  the  imagination.  There  may 
be  marked  depression,  gendered  by  the  fear  of  evil.  Ter- 
ror, arising  from  danger,  has  turned  the  hair  from  black 
to  white,  and  Sir  H.  Holland  tells  us  of  a  young  man  on 
whom  the  same  effect  was  produced  simply  by  illusory 
images.  There  may  be  writhings  of  body,  produced  by 
the  remembrance  of  sin. 

IX.  The  only  effective  way  of  mimicking  a  passion  is 
to  call  up  by  the  fancy  an  object  or  scene  fitted  to  awaken 
the  feeling.  I  rather  think  that  sympathetic  action  is  to 
be  accounted  for  very  much  in  this  way :  we  put  our- 
selves in  the  position  of  others,  by  calling  up  by  the  idea 
the  same  feelings,  which  go  out  in  the  same  manifesta- 
tions. Tears  shed  ai'e  apt  to  call  forth  tears  in  the  be- 
holder, or  quite  as  readily  in  the  listener  to  the  tale  told 
which  makes  us  realize  the  position.  It  is  the  same  with 
laughter,  which  is  apt  to  be  echoed  back  till  the  noise 
rings  throughout  a  large  assembly.  When  a  company  as 
a  whole  is  moved  it  is  difficult  for  any  person  to  keep 
his  composure.  An  alarm  of  fire  will  spread  through  a 
vast  congregation,  the  greater  number  of  whom  are  actu- 
ally cognizant  of  no  cause  of  fear.  A  panic  started  by 
a  few  soldiers  who  believe  that  they  see  danger  will 
often  seize  a  whole  army,  the  great  body  of  whom  know 
no  ground  for  the  terror.  It  is  easier  for  an  orator,  say 
a  preacher,  if  only  he  can  get  up  feeling,  to  move  a  large 


SOME  EMPIRICAL   LAWS.  87 

audience  than  a  tliin  one.  There  is  a  reflection  of  emo- 
tion from  every  person  upon  every  other.  We  call  this 
contagion,  but  it  is  contagion  produced  by  people's  being 
led  to  cherish  the  same  feelings  producing  the  same  out- 
ward manifestation.  The  very  contagion  of  disease  is 
made  more  powerful  by  persons  being  afraid  of,  and  so 
dwelling  much  on,  the  infection. 

If  this  be  so,  then  imitation,  or  at  least  sympathetic 
imitation,  is  to  be  explained  in  this  way :  If  we  have  a 
feeling  of  trust  in  certain  persons,  say  our  neighbors,  or 
our  friends,  or  our  party,  or  our  associates,  or  our  special 
companions,  then  we  are  inclined  to  act  as  they  act,  but 
by  our  coming  to  share  their  feelings,  their  affections, 
and  antipathies.  When  we  have  a  great  admiration  to- 
wards any  one  for  his  courage,  or  his  magnanimity,  we 
are  especially  led  to  copy  him.  A  brave  commander,  by 
going  before,  may  be  able  to  lead  his  troops  into  certain 
death.  We  have  all  seen  a  noble  gift,  on  the  part  of  an 
individual,  calling  forth  the  plaudits  and  the  liberality 
of  many  others.  The  same  principle  may  overcome  the 
sense  of  right  and  lead  us  to  "  follow  a  multitude  to  do 
evil." 

In  this  way  we  can  so  far  account  for  those  violent 
convulsions  which  have  been  produced  sympathetically 
by  religious  and  other  forms  of  excitement.  We  have  a 
melancholy  record  of  these  in  Hecker's  "  The  Epidem- 
ics of  the  Middle  Ages."  Such  was  the  dancing  mania 
which  spread  over  so  many  countries  in  the  fourteenth 
century.  We  have  a  number  of  cases  collected  in  Moore's 
"Power  of  the  Soul  over  the  Body."  He  mentions  the 
strange  delusion  that  "seized  the  minds  of  men  in  Ger- 
many, immediately  after  the  effects  of  the  Black  Death 
had  subsided.  The  delusion  took  the  form  of  a  wild 
dance,  known  as  that  of  St.  John  or  St.  Vitus.     It  was 


88     FOURTH  ELEMENT:  THE  ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

propagated  like  a  demoniacal  epidemic  over  the  whole 
of  Germany  and  the  neighboring  countries  to  the  north- 
west. The  sufferers  formed  circles,  hand  in  hand,  and 
continued  dancing  for  hours  together,  in  wild  delirium, 
until  they  fell  to  the  ground  from  exhaustion."  We 
have  instances  of  the  same  kind  in  the  convulsionaires 
who  appeared  in  France  in  the  last  century.  We  have 
like  examples  in  the  present  day  in  the  dancing  dervishes 
of  the  East,  in  the  contortions  of  the  Jumpers,  and  in  the 
prostrations  which  are  encouraged  in  misguided  religious 
revivals.  These  affections  seem  to  be  produced  by  per- 
sons entering  into  the  feelings  of  those  with  whom  they 
sympathize,  and  thus  bringing  on  the  like  bodily  expres- 
sions. They  can  be  subdued,  not  by  reasoning,  or  by 
commands,  or  even  directly  by  threats,  but  by  a  counter 
irritation,  that  is,  an  idea  raising  a  very  different  feeling, 
"  The  great  Boerhaave  had  a  number  of  patients  seized 
with  epileptic  fits  in  a  hospital  from  sympathy  with  a 
person  who  fell  down  in  convulsions  before  them.  This 
physician  was  puzzled  how  to  act,  for  the  sympathetic 
fits  were  as  violent  as  those  arising  from  bodily  disease; 
but  reflecting  that  they  were  produced  by  an  impression 
on  the  mind,  he  resolved  to  eradicate  them  by  a  still 
stronger  impression,  and  so  directed  hot  irons  to  be  pre- 
pared and  applied  to  the  first  person  who  subsequently 
had  a  fit :  the  consequence  was  that  not  one  was  seized 
afterwards."  "A  French  medical  practitioner  of  great 
merit  relates  that  in  a  convent  of  nuns  one  of  the  fair 
inmates  was  seized  with  a  strange  impulse,  and  soon  the 
whole  sisterhood  followed  her  example  and  mewed  reg- 
ularly every  day  for  hours  together."  This  continued 
until  "the  nuns  were  informed  that  a  company  of  soldiers 
were  to  surround  the  convent,  and  to  whip  all  the  holy 
sisterhood  with  rods,  till  they  promised  to  mew  no  more." 


SOME  EMPIRICAL  LAWS.  89 

"Cardan  relates  that  in  another  nunnery  a  sister  was 
impelled  to  bite  her  companions,  and  this  disposition  also 
spread  among  the  sisterhood ;  but,  instead  of  being  con- 
fined to  one  nunnery,  it  spread  from  cloister  to  cloister 
throughout  the  whole  of  Europe." 

X.  We  are  here  in  the  heart  of  a  subject  which  can- 
not be  cleared  up  at  present,  —  the  reaction  of  mind  and 
body.  If  it  be  true  that  emotion  produces  a  certain 
bodily  state,  it  is  also  true  that  some  bodily  states  tend 
to  produce  the  corresponding  feelings.  Dr.  Braid,  in  his 
very  carious  experiments  as  to  hypnotism,  found  that  a 
person  put  in  the  attitude  of  devotion  became  devout.  I 
am  not  disposed  to  speak  dogmatically  about  this  mys- 
terious phenomenon,  but  I  believe  that  association  of 
ideas  has  to  do  with  it.  The  act  of  kneeling  will  natu- 
rally suggest  the  feelings  we  cherished  when  we  knelt. 
If  we  take  the  attitude  of  striking  the  idea  of  fighting 
will  be  suggested.  If  the  expression  of  affection,  or  of 
pity  is  assumed,  it  will  call  up  the  feeling  associated 
with  it.  In  the  very  act  of  bringing  a  cloud  on  the  brow 
the  idea  of  care  will  be  brought  up. 

XI.  When  an  emotion  has  an  accompanying  expres- 
sion it  will  always  crave  for  that  expression.  If  the 
tendency  is  repressed  by  circumstances,  or  by  an  act  of 
the  will,  there  is  produced  a  restrained  sensation.  At 
times  it  is  distressing  when  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous, 
raised  by  an  awkward  occurrence,  is  held  in,  as  it  must 
often  be  when  we  are  in  a  grave  company,  or  in  the 
house  of  God.  What  a  luxury,  when  the  position  is 
changed,  to  have  an  opportunity  of  indulging  in  ringing 
laughter.  How  pained  are  we  when  grief  cannot  find  an 
outlet.     What  a  relief  when  it  outflows  in  tears. 

XII.  The  question  arises.  What  effect  has  the  expres- 
sion, or  the  restraining  of  it,  upon  the  emotion  ?   In  some 


90     FOURTH  ELEMENT:  THE  ORGANIC  AFFECTION. 

cases  the  expression  seems  to  lessen,  and  in  others  to  in- 
crease the  feeling.  In  like  manner,  the  repression  in 
some  cii'cumstances  seems  to  cool  the  affection,  and  in 
other  cases  to  warm  it.  This  difference  so  far  depends 
on  the  nature  of  the  underlying  appetence,  according  as 
it  contemplates  a  good  to  be  desired,  or  an  evil  to  be 
avoided.  If  it  contemplates  the  good,  the  sensation  will 
be  pleasurable,  and  will  allure  us  to  prolong  and  renew 
the  emotion.  If  it  looks  to  the  evil,  the  feeling  is  pain- 
ful, and  the  recurrence  will  be  avoided.  But  more  de- 
pends on  the  strength  of  the  affection.  The  case  is  like 
that  of  a  wind  blowing  on  a  fire :  if  weak  it  may  extin- 
guish it,  if  strong  it  may  fan  it  into  a  conflagration. 


BOOK  11. 

CLASSIFICATION  AND  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  EMOTIONS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DIVISION  OF  THE  EMOTIONS. 

The  emotions  are  so  numerous  that  it  is  necessary  to 
classify  them.  This  is  by  no  means  an  easy  work;  still 
a  map  may  be  drawn  to  indicate  the  boundaries  and  the 
several  provinces.  Oar  careful  survey,  with  an  analysis, 
will  enable  us  to  accomplish  this. 

There  is,  as  we  have  seen,  an  idea  involved  in  all  emo- 
tion. Let  us  fix  on  this  as  the  ground  of  the  distribu- 
tion. Our  divisions  and  subdivisions  will  be  determined 
and  given  by  the  nature  of  the  objects  of  which  we  hav§ 
an  idea. 

The  circumstance  that  in  all  feeling  we  have  an  idea 
of  objects  as  appetible  or  inappetible  furnishes  a 
line  which  divides  our  emotional  nature,  like  the  human 
body,  into  two  parallel  and  symmetrical  sides.  And  here 
it  may  be  proper  to  state  that  iustead  of  the  somewhat 
technical  phrases  "appetible"  and  "inappetible"  we 
may  often  employ  the  words  "  good  "  and  "  evil."  It  must 
be  distinctly  understood,  however,  that  in  doing  so  we 
do  not  mean  to  designate  by  the  terms  anything  morally 
good  or  the  opposite.  The  appetible,  which  we  call  the 
good  because  our  nature  clings  to  it,  may  in  fact  be  mor- 


92        CLASSIFICATION   AND  DESCRIPTION  OF  EMOTIONS. 

ally  evil,  and  what  we  turn  away  from  as  inappetible 
may  be  morally  good.  Using  the  phrases  in  the  sense 
now  explained,  we  find  that  to  eveiy  emotion  contem- 
plating the  good  there  is  a  corresponding  emotion  con- 
templating the  evil.  Thus,  if  there  be  hope  arising  from 
the  idea  of  an  object  as  about  to  bring  happiness,  there 
is  also  fear  springing  from  the  apprehension  of  an  object 
as  likely  to  be  followed  by  pain.  If  there  be  joy  de- 
rived from  the  possession  of  good,  there  is  likewise  sor- 
row from  the  presence  of  ill.  Every  feeling  looking  to 
the  light  has  thus  a  shadow  arising  from  the  obstruction 
of  the  light.  These  constitute  the  attractions  and  repul- 
sions, the  centripetal  and  centrifugal  forces  which  keep 
the  feelings  in  motion  in  their  spheres  in  our  emotional 
system,  which  is  more  wonderful  than  the  planetary 
one. 

But  this  dichotomy  does  not  so  distribute  the  emotions 
as  to  enable  us  to  discover  the  peculiarities  of  each.  It 
is  like  the  division  in  natural  history  into  the  two  sexes, 
separating  the  things  which  are  most  intimately  con- 
nected in  their  nature  and  which  ought  to  be  viewed  in 
their  mutual  relation.  So  we  must  look  out  for  some 
other  ground  or  grounds  of  classification.  Let  us  con- 
sider the  idea  as  directed  to  animate  or  to  inanimate 
objects,  say  on  the  one  hand  to  our  fellow-men  or  the 
lower  animals,  and  on  the  other  hand  to  objects  of  na- 
ture, or  of  art,  supposed  to  be  beautiful,  picturesque, 
ludicrous,  sublime,  or  the  opposite.  This  gives  another 
bifid  cleavage  of  a  convenient  kind. 

Another  distinction  will  require  to  be  attended  to.  It 
is  acknowledged  by  all  that  feelings  are  called  forth 
when  we  contemplate  the  good  and  evil  as  bearing  on 
ourselves.  These,  being  self-regarding,  may  be  called 
Egoistic.     But  I  have  been  maintaining  in  this  work 


DIVISION  OF   THE  EMOTIONS.  93 

that  man  has  a  native  affection  which  leads  him  to  feel 
an  interest  in,  his  fellow-men,  and  is  capable  of  being 
moved  by  whatev^-  affects  them.  These  affections  have 
been  called  altruistic.  We  are  naturally  inclined  to 
wish  that  others  may  possess  whatever  we  regard  as  ap- 
petible,  and  that  they  may  be  preserved  from  all  that  we 
regard  as  evil. 

But  these  dividing  lines  do  not  distribute  the  whole 
wide  province  into  sufficiently  minute  and  specific  fields. 
So  we  may  further  consider  the  ideas  as  directed  to  the 
past,  the  present,  or  the  future  ;  this  gives  what  Dr. 
Thomas  Brown  calls  the  Reteospective,  Imjmediate, 
and  Peospective  emotions. 

These  separations  will  analyze  the  emotions  for  us  as 
the  prism  does  the  light.  There  is  a  difficulty  in  finding 
phrases  to  express  the  various  kinds,  shades,  and  degrees 
of  feeling.  But  there  will  be  none  in  spreading  out  the 
components  of  any  given  emotion  and  arranging  them  in 
their  orders.  The  divisions  in  fixing  on  the  differentia 
of  the  class  will  always  enable  us  to  give  a  good  definition 
of  any  emotion.  Thus,  "  fear  is  the  emotion  (or  pros- 
pective emotion)  arising  when  we  have  an  idea  of  evil 
about  to  come  upon  us." 

While  I  regard  the  emotions  as  psychical  and  not 
physical,  I  have  not  overlooked  the  organic  products.  In 
doing  so  I  make  free  use  of  the  careful  observations  of 
Sir  Charles  Bell,  and  of  Darwin,  and  the  more  popular 
descriptions  given  by  some  others,  such  as  Cogau  on  "  The 
Passions." 


CHAPTER  II. 

EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 
SECTION  I. 

RETROSPECTIVE   EMOTIOXS. 

These  arise  from  the  contemplation  of  good  or  evil 
in  the  past,  and  this  either  to  ourselves  or  others.  They 
are  the  feelings  gendered  by  the  ideas  brought  up  directly 
or  indirectly  by  the  memory. 

Self-Satisfaction  or  Regret  is  the  general  form  of 
this  class  of  emotions  which,  however,  may  appear  in 
several  modes,  and  may  differ  in  intensity. 

Complacency  or  Displicency.  Here  we  do  not  look 
very  minutely  or  searchingly  into  special  deeds.  Upon 
the  whole,  we  are  satisfied  with  the  past,  with  what  we 
have  done,  and  with  its  results.  Or  we  are  not  pleased 
with  what  we  have  accomplished,  with  our  conduct,  our 
success,  or  the  position  we  have  reached.  These  senti- 
ments may  be  for  good  or  for  evil.  The  former,  if  it 
does  not  gender  Self-Righteousness^  which  is  a  sin,  may 
take  the  form  of  Self-Esteem^  to  sustain  us  and  keep  us 
from  doing  an  unworthy  deed.  The  latter,  if  a  sense  of 
sin,  may  lead  to  Humility,  which,  however,  is  a  grace, 
and  not  a  mere  feeling;  but,  if  directed  exclusively  to  the 
dark  side  of  our  experience,  may  become  a  Self-Dissatis- 
faction, which  restrains  courageous  action. 

Self- Congratulation  or  Self -Reproach.  It  may  be  a 
passing  sentiment  of  self-approval,  because  we  have  done 


RETROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  95 

the  brave  deed,  or  offered  the  smart  remark  that  we  did, 
or  it  may  be  a  momentary  dissatisfaction  with  ourselves, 
because  we  were  so  thoughtless,  so  foolish,  or  because  we 
neglected  a  precious  opportunity  of  adding  to  our  wealth, 
or  influence,  or  of  doing  and  receiving  good.  It  may  be 
a  habitual  dwelling  on  our  own  supposed  good  deeds, 
generating  Self-Svfficiency,  which  may  be  inoffensive  (ex- 
cept to  ourselves)  if  we  do  not  boast  of  our  superiority 
to  others,  but  very  offensive  when  it  leads  us  to  deny  the 
merits,  or  grieve  at  the  success,  of  others.  Or  it  may  be 
a  habitual  Self-Depreciation,  caused  by  the  persons  brood- 
ing forever  on  their  mistakes,  and  looking  as  if  they  were 
making  an  apology  for  themselves.  It  may  rise  to  a  feel- 
ing of  Self-Satisfaction  and  Self-Adulation^  by  thinking 
of  our  achievements,  of  our  abilities,  of  our  courage,  or 
superiority  to  others.  Or  it  may  sink  into  a  spirit  of 
Self-Accusation  or  Self- Chiding,  which  chafes  the  spirit 
and  prostrates  the  energies. 

The  feeling  varies  according  to  the  nature  of  the  good 
or  evil  contemplated.  It  is  a  curious  circumstance  that 
every  one  seems  to  have  something  of  which  he  is  apt  to 
be  vain  ;  it  looks  as  if  no  one  could  live  comfortably  with- 
out some  supposed  excellence.  It  may  be  his  talents,  his 
shrewdness,  his  tact,  his  eminence  in  some  particular 
branch  of  study  or  trade  or  trick,  or  it  may  be  simply 
his  personal  appearance,  his  manners,  his  dress,  his  equi- 
page, his  agility  in  walking,  in  dancing,  or  riding.  If  he 
fails  in  this  the  feeling  engendered  is  Mortification.  If 
he  is  shorn  of  everything  of  which  he  used  to  be  proud, 
the  disappointment  may  sink  deep  into  the  heart,  and 
the  habitual  mood  is  that  of  emptiness,  relieved  only  by 
a  gnawing  at  the  vitals,  and  going  on  towards  Bitterness, 
and  a  Timon-like  hatred  of  women  as  women,  or  of  men 
as  men.     The  sentiment  of  regret  may  have  a  beneficial 


96  EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

tendency,  or  the  opposite,  according  as  it  is  used  or  is 
abused.  On  the  one  hand,  it  may  rebuke  and  humble  us, 
and  so  lead  us  to  avoid  past  mistakes  and  pursue  a  wiser 
course  for  the  future.  On  the  Other  hand,  it  may  fei-- 
ment  and  sour  into  vinegar,  and  become  Chagrin.  Dis- 
appointed lovers,  authors,  artists,  politicians,  and  specu- 
lators are  apt  to  fall  into  this  humor.  If  they  are  young 
they  may  be  able  to  pass  through  this  chill,  and  yet  re- 
cover their  hope  and  activity.  But  when  the  grand  cli- 
macteric of  life  has  been  reached,  and  the  animal  spirits 
have  been  drunk  up  by  repeated  disappointments,  the 
man  may  be  tempted  to  give  up  all  effort,  and  abandon 
himself  to  a  satisfied  or  dissatisfied  helplessness,  accom- 
panied with  a  bitterness  against  individuals,  or  the  world 
at  large,  going  out  probably  in  spiteful  remarks.  We 
must  all  have  met  with  disappointed  men  or  disappointed 
maidens  yielding  to  this  feeling;  still  retaining  a  genuine 
benevolence  in  the  depths  of  their  hearts,  but  maintain- 
ing an  attitude  of  suspicion  even  of  proffered  kindness, 
and  shrinking  from  every  proposal  to  fight  the  battle  of 
life  anew,  after  having  failed.  Of  all  people,  I  have 
found  these  to  be  the  most  difficult  to  gain ;  no  sunshine 
will  thaw  the  eternal  snows  upon  these  high  and  unap- 
proachable mountain-tops. 

The  contemplation  of  the  past  may  communicate  pleas- 
ures. How  deliglitful,  with  a  brother,  or  sister,  or  old 
acquaintance,  to  revive  and,  as  it  were,  live  over  again 
the  scenes  of  our  childhood  and  j^outh  ;  in  imagination  to 
revisit  old  spots,  and  to  converse  with  old  acquaintances, 
it  may  be  about  old  friends,  now  gone  from  this  world. 
The  eye  gives  a  color  to  distant  objects,  makes  mountains 
blue  which  are  not  blue  in  themselves,  and  clouds  purple 
and  gold  which,  if  we  were  in  them,  would  be  felt  as  dull 
and  dripping  mist ;  so  the  imagination,  especially  when 


RETROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  97 

we  are  in  a  good  humor,  gives  a  rich  color  to  the  scenes 
of  the  past  which  in  themselves  were  tame  or  irksome 
or  troubled.  In  particular,  suffering,  unpleasant  in  the 
prospect  and  when  present,  may  become  pleasant  in  the 
remembrance,  as  we  think  of  trials  through  which  we 
have  passed,  and  dangers  overcome,  and  victories  gained 
in  hard  fights.  Emotions  for  which  we  have  not  special 
names  may  thus  be  gendered  by  the  contemplation  of 
the  past,  and  may  be  called  the  Emotions  of  Pleasant 
Memories. 

It  is  proper  that  we  should  look  on  the  past,  for  it  is 
from  the  experience  of  the  past,  both  from  our  success 
and  our  failures,  that  we  are  to  gather  lessons  for  the  fu- 
ture. But  it  is  foolish  to  dwell  forever  on  past  joys,  past 
sorrows,  or  past  sins.  Some  would  extract  a  continued 
and  perpetual  delight  from  contemplating  the  past.  But 
as  we  do  so  the  flavor  will  be  found  to  have  lost  its 
power,  the  sweetness  to  have  become  insipid  while  we 
roll  it  as  a  sweet  morsel  under  our  tongue.  Instead  of 
sucking  on  when  we  have  drawn  out  the  moisture,  we 
had  better  throw  away  the  rind  and  go  forth  to  seek 
other  and  fresh  objects  of  interest.  As  to  our  sufferings, 
we  need  not  look  back  forever  on  the  darkness ;  and  we 
are  especially  to  be  on  our  guard  against  cherishing  a 
perpetual  malignity  towards  those  who  are  supposed  to 
have  inflicted  them.  As  to  our  sins,  our  first  and  im- 
perative duty  is  to  have  them  blotted  out,  and  our  second 
to  remember  them  only  so  far  as  to  keep  us  humble  and 
watchful ;  any  further  mastication  may  only  distract  and 
sink  us,  or  perhaps  even  ferment  the  old  passions  by  call- 
ing up  the  tempting  objects  anew  and  anew. 

Self -Approbation  or  Self- Condemnation,  in  which  we 
contemplate  our  past  conduct  as  being  commendable  or 
faulty.     This  may  be  a  mere  passing  ebullition  of  Self 


98         EMOTIONS   AS  DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE  OBJECTS. 

Gratulation,  that  we  have  accomplished  some  feat,  or  of 
Self-HumiUation^  because  we  have  fallen  into  some  im- 
prudence. Or  it  may  become  a  habitual  feeling  of  Self- 
Satisfaction  and  Self-Adulation,  in  which  we  are  ever 
thinking  of  our  imagined  virtues,  and,  if  of  a  communi- 
cative temper,  ever  speaking  of  them, —  more,  perhaps, 
to  our  own  gratification  than  that  of  others,  who  would 
rather  hear  their  own  praises  proclaimed.  Or  it  may,  as 
it  is  indulged  in,  become  a  constant  complaint  and  a  Re- 
pining, wasting  the  energy  which  might  be  devoted  to  a 
good  purpose. 

Moral  Approbation  and  Disapprobation.  Here 
a  peculiar  and  very  powerful  and  keen  element  is  intro- 
duced ;  it  is  the  power  of  conscience ;  I  refer  to  it  sim- 
ply as  having  an  Appetence,  which,  when  gratified  or 
frustrated,  raises  an  emotion.  When  we  can  look  upon 
a  certain  conduct  of  ours  as  being  right,  we  have  a  feel- 
ing of  Self-Approval  which  may  soothe  or  cheer  us,  pro- 
vided it  does  not  become  a  sense  of  merit  which  leads  us 
to  justify  ourselves  before  God.  On  the  other  hand, 
when  we  do  that  which  is  morally  evil ;  when  we  cherish 
a  licentious,  malignant,  or  unholy  feeling,  or  do  a  deed 
condemned  by  the  moral  law,  the  inward  judge  condemns 
and  proceeds  to  punish. 

There  may  be  the  Testimony  of  a  Grood  Conscience. 
This  may  be  a  source  of  comfort  to  some,  of  unspeakable 
comfort  wliich  bears  them  up  under  calumny  and  perse- 
cution. When  an  innocent  man  is  charged  with  guilt, 
his  main  support  must  arise  from  the  assurance  that  he 
has  not  done  the  deed  charged,  or  that  the  deed,  as  he  is 
ready  to  maintain,  is  not  evil.  He  specially  needs  this 
when  public  opinion  is  against  him,  when  enemies  are 
stirred  up  to  malign  him,  and  his  very  friends  believe 
him  to  be  guilty  and  abandon  him. 


EETROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  99 

Remorse.  I  fear  that  in  the  great  body  of  mankind 
the  conscience  is  in  a  slumbering  state,  not  dead  but  dor- 
mant. There  is  a  secret  feeling  that  all  is  not  right,  and 
men  are  afraid  to  look  into  the  state  of  the  heart  lest 
dark  disclosures  should  be  made  ;  just  as  the  murderer 
would  visit  any  sj)ot  on  this  world's  surface  rather  than 
that  at  which  the  deed  was  committed,  just  as  the  crimi- 
nal would  avoid  the  bar  of  the  judge,  so  would  the  sinner 
avoid  all  those  thouglits  that  would  remind  him  of  his 
sin.  But  there  is  a  power  in  conscience  which  will  com- 
pel us,  in  spite  of  all  repression,  to  notice  the  neglects  of 
duty  of  whicli  we  are  guilty  from  day  to  clay.  The  re- 
proaches, though  individually  ti'ansient,  do  yet,  by  their 
recurrence,  exercise  a  powerful  influence,  —  they  resem- 
ble those  noxious  ephemera  which  make  up  in  number 
■what  they  want  in  strength ;  and  while  the  individual 
perishes  the  genus  survives.  People  are  to  a  large  ex- 
tent unconscious  of  it,  and  if  the  charge  were  made  upon 
them  they  would  repel  it ;  but  I  believe  a  lai'ge  portion 
of  human  dissatisfaction  springs  from  these  constantly 
rising  and  suppressed  accusations,  which  have  much  the 
same  influence  on  our  peace  as  a  diseased  nervous  system 
or  deranged  digestive  organs.  And,  in  spite  of  all  eiforts 
to  check  them,  there  will  be  times  when  convulsive  as- 
saults of  conscience  will  break  in  upon  the  satisfaction 
of  the  most  self-satisfied,  and  start  "  like  a  gnilty  thing 
upon  a  fearful  summons."  Man's  peace  is  in  this  respect 
like  the  sultry  heat  of  a  summer's  day,  close  and  disa- 
greeable at  the  time,  and  ever  liable  to  be  broken  in  upon 
by  thunders  and  lightnings. 

Among  the  Retrospective  emotions  are  those  which 
arise  from  the  idea  of  good  or  evil  supposed  to  have  been 
inflicted  by  our  fellow-men.  I  am  not  sure  that  we  have 
expressions  in  our  language  to  designate  all  these  feel- 
ings with  their  boundary  lines  and  shades  of  difference. 


100       EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE  OBJECTS. 

Benignancy,  Thankfulness^  Gratitude.  The  feeling 
may  be  little  more  than  a  mere  lively  interest  in  those 
who  have  shown  some  interest  in  us,  or  bestowed  a  favor, 
or  done  us  a  good  service.  In  such  cases  it  is  a  mere 
complacency  leading. us  to  delight  in  the  society  of  those 
who  have  been  kind  to  us.  But  it  may  rise  to  a  thank- 
ful and  grateful  spirit.  It  should  be  noticed  that  grati- 
tude in  its  highest  forms  is  an  exercise  of  love  which 
implies  well-wishing  or  benevolence,  and  is  more  than 
emotion,  —  it  implies  an  act  of  the  will,  and  is  a  virtue 
or  grace  of  a  high  order. 

Anger,  Irritation,  Temper,  Indignation.  The  passions 
falling  under  this  head  arise  from  the  idea  of  ill  done, 
specially  of  ill  usage  received.  When  the  appetence  is 
feeble,  or  the  offense  a  small  one,  an  annoyance  is  given 
which  produces  an  irritation  like  the  bite  of  a  mosquito. 
These  disturbances  may  come  like  gnats,  in  streams  or 
swarms,  and  produce  temper  ever  liable  to  be  ruffled  by 
neighbors,  by  members  of  our  families,  or  those  we  meet 
with  in  the  business  and  society  of  the  world.  Very 
often  the  offenses  which  raise  the  keenest  feeling  may 
seem  very  small  to  mankind  generally,  but  they  have 
wounded  the  individual  in  the  tenderest  part,  —  his  sense 
of  honor  or  his  ruling  spring  of  action,  and  his  passion 
boils ;  an  attack  is  made,  or  a  challenge  is  sent.  We  call 
the  emotion  indignation,  when  the  feeling  is  of  a  lofty 
kind,  stirred  up  by  baseness  or  injustice.  An  indigna- 
tion against  evil  is  an  element  in  all  truly  noble  charac- 
ter. A  complacency  towards  sin,  with  a  constant  apology 
for  it,  or  palliation  of  it,  or  excusing  it,  is  a  weakness,  or 
rather  it  is  an  iniquity,  and  may  make  us  partakers  of 
the  offense. 

Mage,  Wrath,  Malignancy,  Resentment,  Vengeance, 
Vindictiveness.     We  may  be  angry  and  sin  not ;  but 


RETROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  101 

this  disposition  may  become  sinful,  and  this  in  the  high- 
est degree.  It  is  so  when  it  is  excessive,  when  it  is  rage, 
and  makes  us  lose  control  of  ourselves.  It  is  so,  and  may 
become  a  vice,  when  it  leads  us  to  wish  evil  to  others. 
It  is  wrath  when  it  is  deep,  long-continued,  and  unfor- 
giving. It  is  malevolence  or  malignancy  when  it  leads 
us  to  wish  evil  to  those  who  have  offended  us.  It  is  re- 
sentment wlien  it  prompts  us  to  meet  and  repay  evil  by 
evil.  It  is  vengeance  when  it  impels  us  to  crush  those 
who  have  injured  us.  It  is  vindictiveness  when  it  is 
seeking  out  ingeniously  and  laboriously  means  and  in- 
struments to  give  pain  to  those  who  have  thwarted  us. 
Already  sin  has  entered :  we  are  taking  upon  ourselves 
one  of  the  prerogatives  of  God,  who  claims  "  Vengeance 
is  mine,  I  will  repay." 

As  anger  arises  from  an  idea  of  evil  having  been  inflicted  or 
threatened,  the  attitudes  taken  are  those  we  would  assume  to  ward 
off  the  evil.  "  The  corporeal  system  immediately  assumes  attitudes 
and  appearances  calculated  to  inspire  the  offender  with  terror,  and 
preparatory  to  the  infliction  of  the  chastisement  he  is  supposed  to 
have  deserved.  The  countenance  reddens,  the  eyes  flash  indignant 
fire,  and  the  aspect  speaks  horror  ;  muscular  strength  is  abundantly 
increased,  and  powers  of  exertion  are  acquired  unknown  to  cooler 
moments."  (Cogan,  c.  ii.  class  I.)  "  Under  moderate  anger  the 
action  of  the  heart  is  a  little  increased,  the  color  lieightoned,  and  the 
eyes  become  bright.  The  respiration  is  likewise  a  little  hurried; 
and  as  all  the  muscles  serving  for  this  purpose  act  in  association,  the 
wings  of  the  nostrils  are  somewhat  raised  to  allow  of  a  free  draught 
of  air;  and  this  is  a  highly  characteristic  sign  of  indignation.  The 
mouth  is  commonly  compressed,  and  there  is  almost  always  a  frown 
on  the  brow.  Instead. of  the  frantic  gestures  of  extreme  rage,  an 
indignant  man  unconsciously  throws  himself  into  an  altitude  ready 
for  attacking  or  striking  his  enemy,  whom  he  will,  perhaps,  scan  from 
head  to  foot  in  defiance.  He  carries  his  head  erect,  with  his  chest 
well  expanded  and  the  feet  planted  firmly  on  the  ground.  He  holds 
his  arms  in  various  positions,  with  one  or  both  elbows  squared,  or 
with  arms  rigidly  suspended  by  his  sides.  With  Europeans  the  fists 
are  commonly  clinched."     (Darwin,  c.  x.) 


102       EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE  OBJECTS. 

"  When  the  blast  of  war  blows  in  our  ears, 
Then  imitate  the  action  of  the  tiger; 
Stiffen  tlie  sinews,  summon  up  the  blood, 


Then  lend  the  eye  a  terrible  aspect; 

Now  set  the  teeth  and  stretch  the  nostril  wide, 
Hold  hard  the  breath  and  bend  up  every  spirit 
To  his  full  height." 

ShaivEspeaee,  Henry  V. 

•'  In  rage  the  features  are  unsteady;  the  eyeballs  are  seen  largely; 
they  roll  and  are  inflamed.  The  front  is  alternately  knit  and  raised 
in  furrows  by  the  motion  of  the  eyebrows,  the  nostrils  are  inflated 
to  the  utmost.  The  lips  are  swelled,  and,  being  drawn  by  the  mus- 
cles, open  the  corners  of  the  mouth.  The  whole  visage  is  sometimes 
pale,  sometimes  turgid,  dark,  and  almost  livid  ;  the  words  are  de- 
livered strongly  through  the  fixed  teeth."     (Bell,  Essay  vii.) 

"  Under  rage  the  action  of  the  heart  is  much  accelerated,  or  it 
may  be  much  disturbed.  The  face  reddens  or  it  becomes  purple 
from  the  impeded  return  of  the  blood,  or  may  turn  deadly  pale. 
The  respiration  is  labored,  the  chest  heaves,  and  the  dilated  nos- 
trils quiver.  The  whole  body  often  trembles.  The  voice  is  affected. 
The  teeth  are  cliiielied  or  ground  together,  and  the  muscular  system 
is  commonly  stimulated  to  violent,  almost  frantic,  action.  But  the 
gestures  of  a  man  in  this  state  usually  differ  from  the  purposeless 
writhings  and  struggles  of  one  suffering  from  an  agony  of  pain;  for 
they  represent  more  or  less  plainly  the  act  of  striking  or  fighting 
with  an  enemy."     (Darwin,  c.  iii.) 

SECTION  II. 

IMMEDIATE    EMOTIONS. 

Joy  and  Sorrow.  These  arise  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  a  good  or  evil  possessed.  The  emotions  are  in- 
tensified when  the  good  has  been  attained  by  labor,  or 
by  a  contest  with  evil.  The  good  and  evil  will  be  as  the 
appetences,  original  or  acquired,  and  tlie  consequent  feel- 
ings may  have  a  like  diversity.  They  may  possibly  con- 
sist of  a  mere  sensation,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  and  the 


IMMEDIATE  EMOTIONS.  103 

feeling  in  this  case  scarcely  rises  to  the  dignity  of  an 
emotion.  But  being  intellectualized  it  may  lead  on  to 
an  idea  which  generates  an  emotion,  say  that  of  beauty. 
"  Grief,"  says  Cogan,  "  is  sometimes  considered  as  sy- 
nonymous with  sorrow.  At  other  times  it  expresses 
more  silent,  deep,  and  painful  affections  ;  such  as  are 
inspired  by  domestic  calamities  ;  particularly  by  the  loss 
of  friends  and  relatives,  or  by  the  distress,  either  of  body 
or  mind,  experienced  by  those  whom  we  love  and  value  " 
The  extent  of  the  feeling  depends  in  all  cases  on  the 
strength  of  the  appetence,  and  on  the  degree  to  which  it 
is  gratified  or  thwarted.  The  phrases,  joyful  and  sor- 
rowful, may  be  applied  to  all  the  feelings  falling  under 
the  head  of  the  immediate.  Let  us  follow  them  from 
their  weaker  to  their  stronger  forms. 

"In  joy  the  eyebrow  is  raised  moderately  but  without  any  angu- 
larity, the  forehead  is  smooth,  the  eye  full,  lively,  and  sparkling,  the 
nostril  is  moderately  inflated,  and  a  smile  is  on  the  lips.  In  all 
the  exhilarating  emotions,  the  eyelid,  the  nostril,  and  the  angle  of 
the  mouth  are  raised.  In  the  depressing  passions  it  is  the  reverse. 
For  example,  in  discontent,  the  brow  is  clouded,  the  nose  is  pecul- 
iarly arched,  and  the  angle  of  the  mouth  drawn  in."  (Bell,  Essay 
vii.)  "  Laura  Bridgman  from  her  blindness  and  deafness  could  not 
have  acquired  any  expression  through  imitation,  yet  when  a  letter 
from  a  beloved  friend  was  communicated  to  her  by  gesture  language, 
she  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  color  mounted  to  her 
cheeks.  On  other  occasions  she  has  been  seen  to  stamp  for  joy." 
(Darwin,  c.  viii.)  "  Joy  quickens  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and 
in  its  first  impulse  it  frequently  excites  violent  palpitations  of  the 
heart.  It  renders  the  eyes  peculiarly  lively  and  animated,  and  some- 
times, when  the  mind  has  been  previously  in  a  state  of  anxious  fear, 
it  stimulates  the  lachrymal  gland  to  the  secretion  of  tears,  accom- 
panied with  redness  and  a  sensation  of  warmth  in  the  countenance." 
"  Unusual  vivacity  in  the  eyes  and  smiles  upon  the  countenance  are 
accompanied  by  joyful  acclamations,  clapping  of  hands,  and  various 
other  lively  gestures.  Where  the  mind  is  strongly  agitated,  and 
under  no  restraint  from  a,  sense  of  decorum  or  solicitude  for  charac- 


104       EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED  TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

ter,  loud  laughter,  jumping,  dancing,  and  the  most  wild  and  extrava- 
gant gestures  indicate  the  frolicksomeness  of  the  heart.','.  (Cogan.) 
Darwin  (c.  iii.)  quotes  a  case  reported  by  Crichton  E  ,vne  :  "A 
young  man  of  sti'ongly  nervous  temperament,  on  hearing  by  a  tele- 
gram that  a  fortune  had  been  bequeathed  him,  first  became  pale, 
then  exhilarated,  but  soon  in  the  highest  spirits,  but  flushed  and 
very  restless.  He  then  took  a  walk  with  a  friend  for  the  sake  of 
tranquillizing  himself,  but  returned  staggering  in  his  gait,  uproar- 
iously laughing,  yet  irritable  in  temper,  incessantly  talking,  and  sing- 
ing loudly  in  the  public  streets."  "  He  then  slept  heavily,  and  on 
awaking  was  well,  except  that  he  suffered  from  headache,  nausea, 
and  prostration  of  strength." 

In  sorrow  or  grief  the  symptoms  are  "  violent  agitations  and  rest- 
less positions  of  the  body,  extension  of  the  arms,  clapping  of  the 
hands,  beating  the  breast,  tearing  the  hair,  loud  sobs  and  sighs." 
"  Sometimes  a  flood  of  tears  relieves  these  pathognomonic  symptoms. 
Universal  lassitude  and  a  sense  of  debility  succeed,  with  deep  dejec- 
tion of  countenance,  and  languor  in  the  eyes,  which  seem  to  look 
around  and  solicit  iu  vain  for  assistance  and  relief."  (Cogan,  c.ii. 
class  1.)  In  fear  or  in  grief  the  movements  of  the  nostrils,  the  un- 
controllable tremor  of  the  lips,  the  convulsions  of  the  neck  and  chest, 
and  the  audible  sobbing,  prove  that  the  influence  of  the  mind  ex- 
tent^ over  the  organs  of  respiration,  so  that  the  difference  is  slight 
between  the  action  of  the  frame  in  a  paroxysm  of  the  passions  and  in 
the  agony  of  a  drowning  man."  (Bell,  Essay  viii.)  The  same  author 
describes  the  overwhelming  influence  of  grief  on  woman.  "  The  ob- 
ject in  her  mind  has  absorbed  all  the  powers  of  the  frame,  the  body 
is  no  more  regarded,  the  spirits  have  left  it,  it  reclines,  and  the  limbs 
gravitate,  they  are  nerveless  and  relaxed,  and  she  scarcely  breathes  ; 
but  why  comes  at  intervals  the  long-drawn  sigh?  why  are  the  neck 
and  throat  convulsed?  what  causes  the  sweUingand  quivering  of  the 
lips,  and  the  deadly  paleness  of  the  face  ?  or  why  is  the  hand  so  pale 
and  earthly  cold?  and  why,  at  intervals,  as  the  agony  returns,  does 
the  convulsion  spread  over  the  frame  like  a  paroxysm  of  suffoca- 
tion? "  (Essay  iii.)  Darwin  (c.  vii.)  describes  the  grief  of  a  young 
woman  from  Nagpore,  nursing  her  baby  who  was  at  the  point  of 
death.  His  I'eporter  "  saw  the  eyebrows  raised  at  the  inner  corners, 
the  eyelids  drooping,  the  forehead  wrinkled  in  the  middle,  the  mouth 
slightly  open,  with  the  corners  much  depressed.  He  then  came  from 
behind  a  screen  of  plants  and  spoke  to  the  poor  woman,  who  started, 


IMMEDIATE   EMOTIONS.  105 

burst  into  a  bitter  flood  of  tears,  and  besought  him  to  cure  her  baby." 
The  same  •  'thor  tells  (c.  vii.)  that  when  the  suffering  is  somewhat 
mitigated,  }^^  prolonged,  they  no  longer  wish  for  action,  but  remain 
motionless  and  passive,  or  may  occasionally  rock  themselves  to  and 
fro.  The  circulation  becomes  languid,  the  face  pale,  the  muscles 
flaccid,  the  eyelids  droop,  the  head  hangs  on  the  contracted  chest, 
the  lips,  cheeks,  and  lower  jaw  all  sink  downward  from  their  own 
weight.  Hence  all  the  features  are  lengthened,  and  the  face  of  a 
person  who  hears  bad  news  is  said  to  fall. 

As  weeping  is  an  especial  expression  of  grief,  this  may  be  the 
proper  place  for  the  physiological  account  of  it.  "  The  lachrymal 
glands  are  the  first  to  be  affected  ;  then  the  eyelids,  and  finally  the 
wliole  converging  muscles  of  the  cheeks."  The  lips  are  drawn  aside 
from  their  being  forcibly  retracted  by  the  superior  influence  of  their 
antagonist  muscles,  and  the  angle  of  the  mouth  (^triangularis  oris)  is 
depressed.  "  The  cheeks  are  thus  drawn  between  two  adverse  ^aow- 
ers  :  the  muscles  which  surround  the  eyelids,  and  that  which  de- 
presses the  lower  lip."  "  The  diaphragm  is  spasmodically  and 
irregularly  affected,  the  chest  and  throat  are  influenced,  the  breath- 
ing is  cut  by  sobbing,  and  the  expiration  is  slow,  with  a  melancholy 
note.  In  the  violence  of  weeping,  accompanied  with  lamentation, 
the  face  is  flushed,  or  rather  suffused  by  stagnant  blood,  and  the 
veins  of  the  forehead  are  distended."  (Bell,  Essay  vi.)  The  mus- 
cles round  the  eyes  are  strongly  contracted  during  screaming,  loud 
laughter,  and  analogous  acts. 

Content  and  Discontent,  or,  to  use  phrases  of  much  the 
same  meaning,  Satisfaction  and  Dissatisfaction.  The 
prevailing  appetences  have  had  enough  of  gratification  to 
soothe  them,  but  not,  it  may  be,  to  excite  them.  A 
great  portion  of  a  healthy  and  happy  man's  life  may  be 
spent  in  this  state,  neither  much  exalted  nor  much  de- 
pressed. On  the  other  hand,  there  may  be  dissatisfac- 
tion, general  or  occasional,  arising  from  affections  being 
disturbed  in  a  small  way  more  or  less  f  requentl}^,  by  an- 
noyances of  various  kinds,  by  ill  health,  by  the  anxieties 
of  business,  domestic  differences,  or  the  rivalries  of  rank. 
It  is  apt  to  manifest  itself  in  a  discontent  painted  on  the 


106       EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO    ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

countenance,  in  a  depression  of  the  bodily  frame,  or  in 
a  habitual  restlessness  or  occasional  irritation  of  manner. 
The  feeling  is  apt  to  settle  down  into  a  state  of  Good  or 
Bad  Humor. 

Gladness  and  Depression.  When  these  are  prolonged 
and  become  continuous,  they  constitute  Cheerfulness  and 
Dejection.  These  are  merely  deeper  manifestations  of 
those  hist  considered.  The  appetences  are  stronger,  or 
they  are  steadily  or  more  fully  gratified.  The  one  feel- 
ing may  be  that  of  a  man  who  has  a  happy  home,  or  a 
pleasant  social  circle,  who  likes  his  work,  and  whose  busi- 
ness is  prospering.  The  counterpart  may  be  the  temper 
of  one  who  is  in  ill  health,  who  has  domestic  unhappi- 
ness,  who  has  quarreled  with  the  circle  in  which  he 
moves,  whose  business  does  not  suit  his  taste,  or  is  con- 
tinually going  wrong.  It  should  be  noticed  that  feelings 
belonging  to  other  divisions  are  apt  to  mingle  with  those 
under  consideration,  such  as  pride,  regrets  as  to  the  past, 
hopes  and  fears  as  to  the  future.  These  feelings,  ac- 
cording as  they  dwell  on  the  good  or  the  evil,  are  often 
called  Good  and  Bad  Spirits^  and  may  promote  or  injure 
the  health. 

Rapture  and  Melancholy.  These  are  the  highest  forms 
of  joy  and  the  lowest  forms  of  sorrow.  They  arise  when 
the  good  and  evil  are  supposed  to  be  very  great,  and  touch 
the  deepest  affections  of  our  nature.  There  is  the  ecstacy 
of  the  lover  when  his  or  her  love  is  recipi'ocated,  of  the 
soldier  when  he  has  gained  a  decisive  victory,  of  the  sci- 
entific investigator  when  the  long  looked-for  discovery 
bursts  upon  his  view,  of  the  saint  when  he  has  the  beatific 
vision.  There  is  the  prostration  of  spirit  which  sinks 
man  and  woman,  when  every  effort  to  secure  their  favor- 
ite ends  has  failed.  Old  men  are  specially  apt  to  feel  in 
this  way  when  they  lose  the  reputation,  the  honor,  the 


IMMEDIATE  EMOTIONS,  107 

fortune  which  they  had  passed  a  life-time  in  earning,  and 
feel  that  they  cannot  start  anew.  We  have  striking  in- 
stances in  the  poet  Beattie  and  in  Edmund  Burke,  when 
they  lost  promising  sons  on  whom  their  hopes  were  cen- 
tred, and  could  never  be  made  to  lift  up  their  heads 
after.  The  cloud  has  come  down  upon  the  mountain  top, 
and  descends  lower  and  lower,  till  at  last  all  is  wrapt 
in  impenetrable  gloom;  and  in  this,  the  winter  season, 
which  has  come  upon  them,  there  is  no  hope  of  its  rising. 
They  now  give  themselves  over  to  melancholy,  "  indulge 
in  melancholy,"  as  the  expression  is,  finding  that  it  is 
easier  for  them  to  do  so  than  make  the  exertion  to  be 
rid  of  it,  which  they  feel  to  be  hopeless  and  useless. 
(^Supra,  p.  60.) 

"  From  his  observations  on  melancholic  patients,  Mr.  Nicol  con- 
cludes that  the  inner  ends  of  the  eyebrows  are  almost  always  more 
or  less  raised,  with  the  wrinkles  on  the  forehead  more  or  less  plainly 
marked.  In  the  case  of  one  young  woman,  these  wrinkles  were  ob- 
served to  be  in  constant  slight  play  or  movement.  In  some  cases 
the  comers  of  the  mouth  are  depressed,  but  often  only  in  a  slight 
degree."  "The  eyelids  generally  droop,  and  the  skin  near  their 
outer  corners  and  beneath  them  is  wrinkled.  The  naso-Iabial  fold, 
which  runs  from  the  wings  of  the  nostrils  to  the  corners  of  the  mouth, 
and  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  blubbering  children,  is  often  plainly 
marked  in  these  patients."  (Darwin,  c.  vii.)  "Melancholy  mani- 
fests itself  by  dejection  of  spirits,  debility  of  mind  and  body,  obsti- 
nate and  insuperable  love  of  solitude,  universal  apathy,  and  a  con- 
firmed listlessness,  which  emaciate  the  corporeal  system,  and,  not 
unfrequently,  trouble  the  brain."     (Cogan,  c.  ii.) 

Peide  and  Self-humiliation.  In  the  former,  we 
form  and  cherish  and  entertain  a  high  and  self-satisfied 
opinion  of  ourselves,  of  our  abilities,  of  our  conduct,  or 
of  certain  qualities  supposed  to  be  possessed  by  us,  or  of 
certain  acts  we  have  done.  In  the  latter,  we  are  not 
satisfied  with  ourselves,  we  do  not  believe  we  have  quali- 


108         EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

fications  for  certain  offices,  and  we  depreciate  what  we 
have  done.  The  one  state,  when  it  is  self-righteous,  may 
become  a  sin  offensive  to  God  and  Self-Conceit  denounced 
by  man ;  the  other,  if  it  is  yielded  to,  and  not  counter- 
acted by  a  sense  of  duty,  may  become  a  Poorness  of  Spirit 
which  prevents  us  from  engaging  in  anything  which  re- 
quires courage  and  perseverance.  The  one,  if  we  dwell 
only  on  the  good  qualities  we  possess,  may  become  Self- 
Mesjject  to  keep  us  from  what  is  mean  and  unworthy  ; 
the  other,  when  it  leads  us  to  take  a  lowly  attitude  be- 
fore God  and  our  fellow-men,  may  become  the  grace  of 
Humility. 

"  A  proud  man  exhibits  his  sense  of  superiority  over  others  by 
holding  his  head  and  body  erect.  He  is  hauglity  (haut)  or  high, 
and  makes  himself  appear  as  large  as  possible,  so  that  metaphorically 
he  is  said  to  be  swollen  or  puffed  up  with  pride.  A  peacock,  or  tur- 
key-cock strutting  about  with  puffed-up  feathers,  is  sometimes  said 
to  be  an  emblem  of  pride.  The  arrogant  man  looks  down  on  others 
and  with  lowered  eyelids  hardly  condescends  to  see  them  ;  or  he  may 
show  his  contempt  by  slight  movements  about  the  nostrils  or  lips. 
Hence  the  muscle  which  everts  the  lower  lip  has  been  called  the 
musculus  siiperbus.  It  is  added  that  the  mouth  is  closed,  '  from  the 
proud  man  feeling  perfect  self-confidence  in  himself  '  "  (Darwin, 
c.  xi.) 

Vanity  differs  from  pride,  inasmuch  as  in  it  people  im- 
agine that  they  stand  high  in  public  esteem,  and  are  led 
to  put  themselves  in  positions  in  which  they  may  dazzle 
the  eyes  of  their  fellow-men.  He  who  cherishes  it  is 
flattered  by  attention  paid  to  him,  by  applause,  perhaps 
even  by  notoriety,  and  is  mortified  by  neglect,  by  blame, 
and  abuse.  Opposed  is  the  Shrinking  from  public  gaze^ 
commonly  from  fear  of  being  found  fault  with. 

Haughtiness  implies  not  only  a  high  opinion  of  our- 
selves but  a  sense  of  superiority  to  others,  often  shown  in 
mien  and  air.     In  Contempt  we  express  by  words  or  by 


IMMEDIATE   EMOTIONS.  109 

manner  that  we  have  a  low  opinion  of  others.  In  Dis- 
dain we  indicate  that  they  are  inferior  to  us  in  such 
qualities  as  worth,  ability,  and  rank,  and  that  we  have  no 
regard  for  them  or  no  use  for  them.  In  Scorn  we  declare 
that  they  are  unworthy  of  our  notice.  In  Sneering  we 
notice  them,  but  only  to  point  to  their  low  qualities.  In 
Disgust  we  view  them  as  we  would  an  offensive  object, 
say  a  mal-odor.  Opposed  to  all  these  is  a  spirit  of  Meek- 
ness, which  "seeketh  not  its  own,"  and  does  not  think  of 
its  superiority  to  others. 

"  Contempt  and  disdain  are  often  accompanied  with  a  satirical 
'  smile  which  strongly  insinuates  that  baseness  and  meanness  are  also 
intermixed  with  large  portions  of  folly."  (Cogan,  p.  I.  c.  ii.)  "  Con- 
trasted with  joy  is  the  testy,  pettish,  peevish  countenance  bred  of 
melancholy;  as  of  one  who  is  incapable  of  receiving  satisfaction  from 
whatever  source  it  may  be  offered ;  who  cannot  endure  any  man  to 
look  steadily  upon  him,  or  even  speak  to  him,  or  laugh,  or  jest,  or 
be  familiar,  or  hem,  or  point,  without  thinking  himself  contemned, 
insulted,  or  neglected.  The  arching  of  the  mouth,  and  peculiar  form 
of  the  wings  of  the  nose,  are  produced  by  the  conjoint  action  of  the 
triangular  muscle  which  depresses  the  angles  of  the  mouth  and  the 
superbus,  whose  individual  action  protrudes  the  lower  lip.  The 
very  peevish  turn  given  to  the  eyebrows,  the  acute  upward  inflection 
of  their  inner  extremities,  and  the  meeting  of  the  perpendicular  and 
transverse  furrows  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  are  produced  by  the 
opposed  action  of  part  of  the  frontal  muscle  and  of  the  corrugator." 
(Bell,  Essay  vii.)  "The  lips  are  retracted  and  the  grinning  teeth 
exposed.  The  upper  lip  is  retracted  in  such  a  manner  that  the  ca- 
nine tooth  on  one  side  of  the  face  alone  is  shown;  the  face  itself 
being  generally  a  little  upturned  and  half  averted  from  the  person 
causing  offense."  "  The  expression  of  a  half-playful  sneer  gradu- 
ates into  one  of  great  ferocity  when,  together  with  a  heavily  frown- 
ing brow  and  fierce  eye,  the  canine  tooth  is  exposed."  (Darwin, 
c.  x.)  "  In  sulkiness,  as  seen  for  instance  in  children,  there  is  a  pro- 
trusion or  pouting  of  the  lips."  (c.  v.)  "  The  most  common  method 
of  expressing  contempt  is  by  movements  about  the  nose  or  round  the 
mouth;  but  the  latter  movements,  when  strongly  pronounced,  indicate 
disgust.     The  nose  may  be  sHghtly  turned  up,  which  apparently  fol- 


110        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

lows  from  the  turning  up  of  the  upper  lip ;  or  the  movement  may  be 
abbreviated  into  the  mere  wrinkling  of  the  nose.  The  nose  is  often 
slightly  contracted  so  as  partly  to  close  the  passage,  and  is  commonly 
accompanied  by  a  slight  snort  or  expiration.  All  these  actions  are 
the  same  with  those  we  employ  when  we  perceive  an  offensive  odor. 
We  seem  thus  to  say  to  the  despised  person  that  he  smells  offen- 
sively; in  nearly  the  same  manner  as  we  express  to  him  by  half 
closing  our  eyelids  or  turning  away  our  faces,  that  he  is  not  worth 
looking  at."     (c.  xi.) 

SuBinssioN,  Resignation,  Patience.  Under  these 
emotions  we  know  and  feel  that  we  are  exposed  to  evil 
imposed  by  circumstances,  or  by  the  intention  of  an  agent. 
We  might  be  tempted  to  rebellion  and  to  fighting,  and 
the  issue  would  be  irritation,  as  when  the  rock  opposes 
the  waves.  But  we  choose  to  submit  to  the  inevitable, 
or  we  resign  ourselves  to  what  is  our  lot.  We  may  rise 
to  a  far  higher  state,  —  to  the  grace  of  patience  which 
submits  implicitly  to  the  will  of  God  and  believes  that 
all  is  for  good. 

Mesista7ice,  Repining^  Peevishness,  Sulkiness,  Disgust. 
We  oppose  and  resent  the  evil  to  which  we  are  exposed, 
or  we  habitually  dwell  on  the  evils  of  our  lot ;  we  tlirow 
the  blame  on  our  position  or  on  our  fellow-men,  and  com- 
plain of  fortune,  of  fate,  or  of  God.  Often  the  sense  of 
injury  done  is  allowed  to  sink  into  the  heart,  breeding 
discontent  and  issuing  in  murmuring  or  in  disobliging 
acts  indicating  the  peevish  temper  within.  Some  yield 
to  sulkiness,  and  retreat,  as  into  a  cave,  from  their  fellow- 
men  as  unworthy  of  their  confidence  and  regard. 

In  the  look  and  mien  of  resignation  there  is  a  resistance  to  the 
impulses  which  would  lead  to  rebellion  and  retaliation,  such  as  anger 
and  revenge  ;  and  this  gives  a  sTippressed  and  a  subdued  look,  with 
possibly  the  hands  lying  over  the' body  and  the  eyes  cast  downward. 

Good  and  Bad  Humor.  These  are  habitual  states. 
They  may  depend  very  much   on  the  bodily   tempera- 


IMMEDIATE   EMOTIONS.  Ill 

ment.  Good  humor  often  proceeds  simply  from  good 
health,  favored,  it  may  be,  by  prosperity.  Quite  as  fre- 
quently, however,  it  is  produced  by  mental  appetences 
cherished  from  day  to  day.  In  all  cases  it  consists  in  a 
flow  of  grateful  feelings  running  towards  what  is  pleas- 
ing and  viewing  all  things  on  the  sunny  side.  In  the 
opposite  humor  all  things  are  clothed,  as  it  were,  in  the 
dress  of  mourning.  Possibly  under  the  influence  of  a 
disordered  stomach,  or  a  diseased  frame,  or  cherished  ill- 
temper,  the  mind  flits  from  one  ungrateful  topic  towards 
another :  in  the  past  remembering  only  misfortunes  or  ill 
usage ;  in  the  present  thinking  only  of  deprivations,  and 
in  the  future  picturing  only  woes.  It  may  become  a 
Sourness  of  Temper  painted  visibly  on  the  countenance, 
and  exhibited  in  the  manner,  and  rejecting  all  kind  pro- 
posals, even  those  of  genuine  love. 

"  A  man  in  high  spirits,  though  he  may  not  actually  smile,  com- 
monly exhibits  some  tendency  to  the  retractions  of  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  From  the  excitement  of  pleasure  the  circulation  becomes 
more  rapid,  the  eyes  are  bright,  and  the  color  of  the  face  rises.  The 
brain,  being  stimulated  by  the  increased  flow  of  blood,  reacts  on  the 
mental  powers  ;  lively  ideas  pass  still  more  rapidly  through  the  mind, 
and  the  affections  are  warmed.  I  heard  a  child  a  little  under  four 
years,  when  asked  what  is  meant  by  being  in  good  spirits,  answer 
'  it  is  laughing,  talking,  and  kissing.'  "     (Darwin,  c.  viii.) 

Already  some  of  these  feelings  relate  to  supposed  good 
or  evil  to  others  as  well  as  ourselves.  We  may  now  look 
exclusively  to  the  emotions  bearing  on  others. 

Pity  is  produced  by  the  idea  of  a  person  subjected  to 
pain  or  to  any  form  of  evil.  When  it  is  continuous  it  is 
compassion  towards  those  who  suffer,  and  it  may  be 
those  that  sin.  Opposed  is  Hardness  of  Heart,  which  is 
insensible  to  the  wail  of  misery,  and  steels  itself  against 
the  claims  of  poverty  and  suffering. 


112        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

Sympathy,  with  Joys  or  Sorrows.  This  is  a  fine  ele- 
ment of  human  character.  It  originates  in  the  affection 
which  we  naturally  have  towards  others.  All  this,  how- 
ever, may  be  a  mere  surface  sensibility,  as  fleeting  as  the 
play  of  features  on  the  countenance,  or  as  the  chasing  of 
sunshine  and  shadow  on  the  mountain  sides,  very  pleas- 
ant, but  evanescent,  —  as  one  observed  of  a  sensitive 
person  ever  in  smiles  and  tears,  that  he  was  a  man  of 
tenderness  of  nerve  rather  than  of  heart.  Such  persons 
feel  for  us,  but  they  do  not  stand  by  us ;  they  do  not  help 
us.  In  genuine  feeling  sympathy  is  rooted  and  grounded 
in  love,  and  is  a  branch  of  love,  and  a  grace  of  a  high 
order.  We  are  commanded  to  "  rejoice  with  them  that 
do  rejoice  and  weep  with  them  that  weep." 

In  it  our  heart  beats  responsive  to  the  hearts  of  others. 
We  enter  into  their  feelings ;  we  identify  ourselves  with 
them.  Our  very  countenance  is  apt  to  take  the  expres- 
sion of  the  feeling  into  which  we  enter.  When  we  see 
others  laugh,  we  are  apt  to  laugh  also.  We  weep  with 
those  that  weep.  We  are  disposed  to  run  with  those 
that  run.  W~e  flee  with  those  that  flee.  When  others 
are  striking  a  blow  we  are  inclined  to  lift  our  arm  as  if  to 
do  the  same.  It  is  usually  said  that  all  this  arises  from 
the  principle  of  imitation.  The  correct  account  rather 
is,  that  we  place  ourselves  in  the  position  of  others,  and 
are  thus  led  to  act  as  they  act. 

Envy.  Here  we  have  an  idea  of  others  being  superior 
to  us,  and  instead  of  rejoicing  in  it  we  feel  as  if  we  were 
thereby  lowered  and  injured,  and  are  tempted  to  lower 
and  injure  them.  Envy  is  one  prompting  cause  of  our 
depreciation  of  others,  of  slander,  and  of  the  efforts  we 
make  to  oppose  and  keep  down  our  rivals. 

Trust  or  Confidence  in  a  fellow-creature,  or  Suspicion. 
We  look  on  an  individual  as  to  be  relied  on  or  not  to  be 


IMMEDIATE  EMOTIONS.  113 

relied  on,  and  a  feeling  of  trust  or  mistrust  arises.  This 
feeling  is  apt  to  become  especially  strong  when  we  view 
liim  as  having  a  relation  to  us  ;  and  as  likely  to  stand 
by  us  in  an  emergency,  or  to  abandon  us  and  turn 
against  us.  Some  are  confiding  to  the  extent  of  weak- 
ness, and  so  are  likely  to  be  taken  in ;  others  ai'e  un- 
reasonably and  cruelly  suspicious,  and  construe  every 
appearance  as  a  proof  of  guilt.  These  extremes  are 
manifestations  of  a  temper  inclined  to  look  on  mankind 
with  kindly  or  with  unkindly  feelings,  but  not  stopping 
to  weigh  evidence. 

Suspicion  is  described  in  the  "Faery  Queen:  "  — 

"Foul,  ill-favored,  and  grim, 
Under  his  eyebrows  looking  still  askance, 
And  ever  as  Uisscmblance  laughed  on  him 
He  lower'd  on  her  with  dangerous  eye  glance, 
Showing  his  nature  in  his  countenance, 
His  rolling  eyes  did  never  rest  in  place, 
But  walked  each  where,  for  fear  of  hid  mischance 
Holding  a  lattice  still  before  his  face, 
Though  he  still  did  peep  as  forward  he  did  pace." 

Suspicion,  while  keeping  the  body  unmoved  to  avoid  notice,  may 
be  turning  the  eye  in  a  peering  manner. 

Rejoicing  in  or  Jealousy  of  the  success  of  others.  We 
have  been  brought  into  a  relation  more  or  less  close  with 
certain  of  our  fellow-men.  We  are  led  in  consequence 
of  the  social  instinct  to  feel  an  interest  in  them  and  in 
their  prosperity ;  we  feel  as  if  their  success  is  our  suc- 
cess ;  we  are  almost  as  much  delighted  with  it  as  they 
are,  and  we  are  prompted  to  further  it  from  interested 
or  disinterested  motives.  Or,  a  person  has  come  be- 
tween us  and  those  whom  we  love,  or  those  on  whom 
we  suppose  that  we  have  some  claim,  or  he  is  hinder- 
ing our  favorite  ends  or  schemes,  and  we  become  jealous 
of  him.     When  his  name  is  mentioned,  when  we  meet 


114        EMOTIONS  AS  DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

him  or  we  are  led  to  think  of  him,  especially  when  wt- 
are  brought  into  collision  with  him,  painful  associations 
come  up,  and  we  wish  that  he  may  be  disappointed. 
This  disposition  shows  itself  among  the  lower  animals. 
The  pet  dog  indicates  its  dislike  of  any  other  creature  — 
dog  or  cat  or  child  —  that  threatens  to  usurp  its  place. 
That  girl  is  very  much  offended  when  any  other  child 
gets  more  attention  than  she  does  from  nurse  or  mother. 
Jealousies  arise  in  the  rivalries  of  school,  and  appear  in 
every  futui'e  stage  of  life,  and  are  seen  in  the  competi- 
tions of  trade,  of  dress,  of  social  dignity,  of  popularity, 
of  honor  and  reputation.  It  is  more  common  in  certain 
walks  of  life  than  in  others,  and  is  apt  to  come  out  to 
notice  in  all  those  professions  in  which  the  members  come 
in  collision  with  each  other  :  as,  for  instance,  among  doc- 
tors, who  have  to  consult  about  delicate  cases  ;  among 
actors  and  actresses,  who  have  to  live  on  popular  ap- 
plause, which  is  apt  to  be  capricious  ;  among  authors, 
who  have  to  be  sustained  by  public  opinion  ;  and  even 
among  popular  preachers,  who  feel  that  they  have  a 
reputation  to  keep  up,  and  are  not  awed  by  the  respon- 
sibility of  their  office.  Women  are  more  disposed  to  feel 
it  than  men,  because  of  their  numerous  small  attach- 
ments, and  because  there  is  not  as  much  opportunity  of 
having  their  angles  and  points  rubbed  off  and  smoothed 
by  intercourse  with  the  world.  It  has  to  be  added  that 
when  men  are  frustrated  in  a  ruling  passion  they  are  apt 
to  keep  up  the  bitterness  longer  and  express  it  more 
loudly  than  the  opposite  sex. 

Jealousy  is  more  specially  felt  when  there  has  been  an 
affection  of  some  kind  between  the  parties.  It  is  most 
apt  to  be  felt  by  lovers,  and  may  disturb  the  intercourse 
of  husband  and  wife.  Lovers  are  so  dependent  on  the 
smile  of  the  loved  one  that  they  feel  as  if  left  in  darkness 


PROSPECTIVE   EMOTIONS.  115 

when  the  sunshine  is  withdrawn,  and  they  attribute  the 
withdrawal  to  a  rival  coming  between.  Husband  and 
wife  feel  that  they  have  a  right  to  the  pledged  affection 
of  one  to  the  other,  and  are  indignant  at  the  one  who 
has  enticed  it  away  and  grieved  with  the  one  who  has 
unlawfully  bartered  it. 

'"In  jealousy  the  eyelid  is  fully  lifted  and  tlie  eyebrows  strongly 
knit,  so  that  the  eyelid  almost  entirely  disappears  and  the  eyeball 
glares  from  under  the  bushy  eyebrow.  There  is  a  general  tension 
on  the  muscles  which  concentrate  round  the  mouth ;  and  the  lips  are 
drawn  so  as  to  show  the  teeth  with  an  expression  of  cruelty,  depend- 
ing in  a  great  measure,  perhaps,  on  the  turn  of  the  nostrils  which 
accompanies  the  drawing  of  the  lips."  (Cogan.)  "  In  jealousy  the 
eyebrows  are  knit,  and  the  eyelid  so  fully  lifted  as  almost  to  disap- 
pear, while  the  eyeball  glares  from  under  the  bushy  eyebrow.  There 
is  a  general  tension  of  the  muscles  which  concentre  round  the  mouth 
and  the  lips,  and  show  the  teeth  with  a  fierce  expression.  This  de- 
pends partly  on  the  turn  of  the  nostril  which  accompanies  the  retrac- 
tion of  the  lips."     (Bell,  Essay  vii.) 

SECTION  III. 

PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS. 

The  emotions  looking  to  the  future  are  the  main  stim- 
ulants of  activity.  As  we  fix  our  eyes  on  the  past  we 
may  be  kept  from  going  forward ;  we  may  be  satisfied, 
and  so  cease  to  exert  ourselves,  or  so  dissatisfied  as  to 
give  ourselves  up  to  unbelief  or  despair.  The  present 
may  induce  us  to  linger  in  it ;  the  present  good  may  sat- 
isfy us  or  the  present  evil  may  bow  us  down  to  the  earth. 
In  the  emotions  now  under  consideration  we  look  on  the 
land  before  us,  and  are  allured  to  go  on  to  possess  it. 
"  We  are  saved  by  hope."  Without  it  we  would  lie 
down  and  perish ;  with  it  we  rise  as  Mungo  Park  did, 
when,  being  prostrated  and  ready  to  die,  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  "  blue-bell  "  of  Scotland,  and  he  arose  with  the  pur- 


116        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

pose  of  yet  seeing  his  native  land.  It  is  a  common  say- 
ing that  more  of  human  happiness  may  proceed  from  hope 
than  realization  ;  the  enjoyment  is  in  the  hunt  rather 
than  in  the  game  caught.  It  is  fortunate,  it  is  providen- 
tial that  it  is  so.  Men  are  not  expected,  after  having 
gained  some  petty  end,  to  retire  from  the  heat  of  the 
day  and  give  themselves  over  to  indolence.  To  those 
who  would  linger  too  long  in  the  shade  God  may  send  a 
gadfly  to  rouse  them  from  their  torpor  and  send  them 
forth  to  new  activities. 

The  prospective  emotions,  like  all  the  others,  may  be 
divided  into  those  that  look  to  the  appetible  and  those 
that  look  to  the  inappetible,  in  other  words  into  the 
gi-ateful  and  ungrateful.  But  there  is  an  important  class 
which  lies  in  an  intermediate  region. 

SuEPKlSE,  Astonishment.  An  event  occurs  very  sud- 
denly or  contrary  to  the  usual  course  of  things,  or  the 
expectations  which  we  were  led  to  entertain.  It  is  of 
such  a  character  that  it  must  have  momentous  conse- 
quences. But  we  know  not  at  first  whether  it  is  to  be 
for  good  or  for  evil.  It  thus  raises  feeling ;  for  the  mind 
dwells  on  the  possible  or  probable  evil,  and  becomes  ex- 
cited, perhaps  restless,  hoping  or  fearing,  or  flitting  from 
the  one  to  the  other.  This  may  continue  for  a  time,  till 
we  see  what  the  nature  of  the  event  is  to  be,  what  are  its 
causes  and  its  consequences ;  and  then  the  miracle  comes 
to  be  regarded  as  a  natural  occurrence.  The  feeling  is 
apt  to  be  strongest  among  the  young  who  more  fre- 
quently meet  with  unexpected  occurrences  and  are  more 
uncertain  about  the  issues.  As  they  advance  in  life  they 
are  less  liable  to  meet  with  incidents  out  of  the  course 
of  their  ordinary  experience,  and  better  able  to  calculate 
the  results.  The  young  run  to  every  blazing  fire  ex- 
pecting pleasure  which  the  old  know  is  not  likely  to  fol- 


PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  117 

low.  The  consequence  is  that  the  aged  are  apt  to  cease 
to  feel  an  interest  in  what  is  passing ;  because  their  ex- 
perience does  not  justify  them  in  expecting  from  it  much 
good  or  much  evil. 

"  The  first  impulse  of  surprise  deprives  the  subject  of  the  power 
of  utterance,  and  the  first  exertion  of  this  returning  power  consists 
in  loud  exclamations  adapted  both  to  the  nature  of  the  emotion 
itself  and  to  its  confusion  and  wonder  in  relation  to  the  object." 
"  The  eyes  are  sometimes  fastened  upon  the  author  or  narrator  of 
something  wonderful  ;  sometimes  they  are  directed  upwards  to  be 
more  detached  from  every  surrounding  object  which  might  distract 
the  attention ;  sometimes  they  roll  about  as  if  they  were  in  search 
of  an  object  that  may  be  equal  to  the  explanation,  and  the  half- 
opened  mouth  seems  eager  to  receive  the  desired  information." 
(Cogan,  c.  ii.)  "The  eyes  and  mouth  being  widely  open  is  an  ex- 
pression universally  recognized  as  one  of  surprise  or  astonishment. 
Thus,  Shakespeare  says:  'I  saw  a  smith  stand  with  open  mouth 
swallowing  a  tailor's  news.'  And  again,  '  They  seemed  almost  with 
staring  on  one  another  to  tear  the  cases  of  their  eyes  ;  there  was 
speech  in  their  dumbness,  language  in  their  very  gesture ;  they 
looked  as  they  had  heard  of  a  world  destroyed.'  "  "  That  the  eye- 
brows are  raised  by  an  innate  or  instinctive  impulse  may  be  inferred 
from  the  fact  that  Laura  Bridgman  invariably  acts  thus  when  as- 
tonished, as  I  have  been  assured  by  the  lady  who  has  lately  had 
charge  of  her.  As  surprise  is  excited  by  something  unexpected  or 
unknown,  we  naturally  desire,  when  startled,  to  perceive  the  cause 
as  quickly  as  possible ;  and  we  consequently  open  our  eyes  fully  ; 
so  that  the  field  of  vision  may  be  increased  and  the  eyeballs  moved 
easily  in  any  direction.  But  this  hardly  accounts  for  the  eyebrows 
being  so  greatly  raised  as  is  the  case,  and  for  the  wild  staring  of 
the  open  eyes.  The  explanation  of  this  lies,  I  believe,  in  the  im- 
possibility of  opening  the  eyes  with  great  rapidity  by  merely  rais- 
ing the  upper  lids.  To  effect  this  the  eyebrows  must  be  lifted  en- 
ergetically. Any  one  who  will  try  to  open  his  eyes  as  quickly  as 
possible  before  a  mirror  will  find  that  he  acts  thus  ;  and  the  en- 
ergetic lifting  up  of  the  eyebrows  opens  the  eyes  so  widely  that 
they  stare  the  while,  being  exposed  all  round  the  iris.  Moreover, 
the  elevation  of  the  eyebrows  is  an  advantage  in  looking  upwards ; 
for  as  long  as  they  are  lowered  they  impede  our  vision  in  this  di- 


118        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO  ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

rection."  "  The  habit  of  raising  the  eyebrows  having  once  been 
gained  in  order  to  see  as  quickly  as  possible  all  around  us,  the 
movement  would  follow  from  the  force  of  association  whenever  as- 
tonishment was  felt  from  any  cause,  even  from  a  sudden  sound  or 
idea."  "  The  cause  of  the  mouth  being  opened  when  astonishment 
is  felt  is  a  much  more  complex  aifair,  and  several  causes  apparently 
concur  in  leading  to  this  movement."  "  We  can  breathe  much  more 
quietly  through  the  open  mouth  than  through  the  nostrils,  therefore 
when  we  wish  to  listen  intently  to  any  sound  we  either  stop  breath- 
ing or  breathe  as  quietly  as  possible  by  opening  our  mouths,  at 
the  same  time  keeping  our  bodies  motionless."  When  the  atten- 
tion is  directed  forcibly  to  an  object,  the  organs  of  the  body  not  en- 
gaged are  neglected,  and  so  in  astonishment  many  of  the  muscles 
become  relaxed,  and  hence  the  open  dropping  of  the  jaw  and  open 
mouth  of  a  man  stupefied  with  amazement.  Another  cause  oper- 
ates. "  We  can  draw  a  full  and  deep  inspiration  much  more  easily 
through  the  widely  open  mouth  than  through  the  nostrils.  Now 
when  we  start  at  any  sudden  sound  or  sight,  almost  all  the  muscles 
of  the  body  are  involuntarily  and  momentarily  tlnowu  into  strong 
action  for  the  sake  of  guarding  ourselves  against  or  jumping  away 
from  the  danger  which  we  habitually  associate  with  anything  un- 
expected. But  we  always  unconsciously  prepare  ourselves  for  any 
great  exertion  by  first  taking  a  deep  and  full  inspiration,  and  we 
consequently  open  our  mouths."  "  Thus  several  causes  concur  to- 
wards this  same,  whether  surprise,  astonishment,  or  amazement  is 
felt."     (Darwin,  c.  xii.) 

Admiration,  Wonder,  and  Veneration.  We  are  struck 
with  something  supposed  to  be  great  in  power,  in  intel- 
lect, or  in  goodness.  We  anticipate  important  effects  to 
follow ;  as  we  do  so  corresponding  feelings  rise  and  surge 
and  swell.  When  the  objects  or  consequences  are  good, 
admiration  and  wonder  may  become  moral  in  their  na- 
ture. They  may  become  a  veneration  for  all  that  is  ex- 
cellent towards  the  aged,  the  ancient,  the  grand.  The 
7iil  admirari  school  may  seem  very  wise,  and  may  boast 
that  they  are  never  deceived,  but  as  they  have  no  heau 
ideal  they  never  accomplish  anything  truly  great.  Won- 
der opens  our  eyes  and  fixes  them  on  something  high  to 


PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  119 

winch  it  would  elevate  us.  It  is  an  essential  element  in 
all  truly  exalted  character,  and  leads  on  to  Reverence  and 
Awe.  It  enters  largely  into  the  Adoration  and  worship 
which  we  pay  to  God. 

"  In  admiration  the  faculty  of  sight  is  enjoyed  to  the  utmost  and 
all  else  is  forgotten.  The  brow  is  expanded  and  unruffled,  the  eye- 
brows gently  raised,  the  eye  lifted  so  as  to  expose  the  colored  sur- 
face of  the  eye,  while  the  lower  part  of  the  face  is  relaxed  in  a  gentle 
smile.  The  mouth  is  open,  the  jaw  a  little  fallen,  and  by  the  relaxa- 
tion of  the  lower  lip  we  must  perceive  the  edge  of  the  lower  teeth 
and  tongue.  The  posture  of  the  body  is  most  expressive  when  it 
seems  arrested  in  some  familiar  action."  (Bell,  Essay  vii.)  "  When 
subject  to  particular  influences  the  natural  position  of  the  eyeball  is 
to  be  directed  upward.  In  sleep,  languor,  and  depression,  or  when 
affected  with  strong  emotions,  the  eyes  naturally  and  insensibly 
roll  upwards.  The  action  is  not  a  voluntary  one ;  it  is  irresistible. 
Hence  in  reverence,  in  devotion,  in  agony  of  mind,  in  all  sentiments 
of  pity,  in  bodily  pain  with  fear  of  death,  the  eyes  assume  that  posi- 
tion." "  We  thus  see  that  when  wrapt  in  devotional  feelings,  and 
when  outward  impressions  are  unheeded,  the  eyes  are  raised  by  an 
action  neither  taught  nor  acquired.  It  is  by  this  instinctive  motion 
we  are  led  to  bow  with  humility,  to  look  upward  in  prayer,  and  to 
regard  the  visible  heavens  as  the  seat  of  God."     (Bell,  Essay  iv.) 

"  Prayer  is  .  .  . 
The  upward  glancing  of  the  eye 
When  none  but  God  is  near." 

The  Prospective  Emotions  proper  are  all  of  the  nature 
of  — 

Hope  and  Fear.  The  former  of  these  arises  from  the 
contemplation  of  good,  the  latter  from  the  apprehension 
of  evil  as  about  to  come.  The  feeling  varies  with  the 
nature  and  extent  of  the  good  or  evil  conceived,  and  of 
the  probability  of  its  coming. 

The  tendency  of  hope  is  to  enliven,  to  cheer,  to  stimu- 
late action.  But  it  is  also  true  that  ill-grounded  hopes, 
fostering  in  the  first  instance  a  false  security,  and  so  lead- 
ing to  disappointment,  may  make  us  despair  of  accom- 


120        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

plishing  any  good  end.  "  Hope  deferred  maketh  the 
heart  sick."  The  tendency  and  the  final  cause  of  fear  is 
to  hold  back  and  repress,  when  we  might  be  tempted  to 
rush  into  danger.  But  some  are  so  terror-stricken  that 
they  are  incapable  of  taking  any  action  to  ward  off  the 
evil.  It  has  to  be  added,  that  fear  has  sometimes  called 
forth  and  intensified  dormant  energies.  There  are  occa- 
sions when  man  acquires  courage  from  despair.  A  man 
fleeing  for  his  life  has  performed  feats  of  ingenuity  and 
strength  which  he  would  not  have  attempted  in  calmer 
hours.  In  all  cases  there  should  be  judgment  and  prin- 
ciple exercised  in  seeing  that  we  hope  for  proper  objects, 
that  we  be  afraid  only  of  what  is  evil,  and  are  ready  to 
resist  the  evil  when  duty  calls. 

Hope  seems  to  give  a  life  and  a  spring  to  our  whole  nervous  sys- 
tem so  far  as  it  is  influenced  by  the  gray  matter  of  the  brain.  It  is 
especially  seen  in  the  keen  eye.  It  leads  us  to  look  forward  as  if  to 
see,  and  lean  forward  as  if  to  reach,  the  object.  We  elevate  the  eye- 
brow that  the  view  may  be  chiar.  But  "  Fear  produces  an  agony 
and  anxiety  about  the  heart  not  to  be  described  ;  and  it  may  be  said 
to  paralyze  the  soul  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  it  insensible  to 
everything  but  its  own  misery.  Inertness  and  torpor  pervade  the 
whole  system,  united  with  a  constriction  of  the  integuments  of  the 
body,  and  also  a  certain  sense  of  being  fettered,  or  of  being  rendered 
incapable  of  motion.  The  eyes  are  pallid,  wild,  and  sunk  in  their 
sockets  ;  the  countenance  is  contracted  and  wan,  the  hair  stands 
erect,  or  at  least  this  sensation  is  excited,  which  every  child  experi- 
ences so  often  as  he  is  terrified  by  stories  of  ghosts,  witches,  etc.  The 
bowels  are  strongly  affected,  the  heart  palpitates,  respiration  labors, 
the  lips  tremble,  the  tongue  falters,  the  limbs  are  unable  to  obey  the 
will  or  support  the  frame.  Dreadful  shrieks  denote  the  inward  an- 
guish. These  are  often  succeeded  by  syncopes,  which,  while  they 
manifest  that  the  sufferings  are  greater  than  nature  can  sustain, 
afford  a  temporary  relief."  (Cogan,  c.  ii.  class  I.)  "Fear  came 
upon  me  and  trembling,  which  made  all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then 
a  spirit  passed  before  my  face  ;  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up.  It 
stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form  thereof  ;  an  image  was 


PROSPECTIVE   EMOTIONS.  121 

before  mine  eyes ;  there  was  silence  and  I  heard  a  voice."     (Job  iv. 
14-16.) 

Anticipation,  Expectation,  Assurance  of  Hope,  are 
fainter  and  stronger  forms,  growing  on  the  idea  of  good, 
as  possibly,  probubly,  or  certainly  coming.  Sometimes  it 
is  a  feeble  light,  pleasing,  but  not  moving,  the  soul.  Or, 
it  may  become  lively  and  exciting,  a  source  of  happiness, 
and  an  incentive  to  activity.  Or,  it  may  rise  to  a  full 
assurance  in  which  it  has  all  the  stability  of  realization : 
such  is  the  hope  of  the  return  of  the  seasons  or  of  a  good 
man's  fulfillment  of  promise ;  such  is  hope  in  God,  in  his 
Word  and  Providence.  It  should  be  noticed  that  the 
practical  result  depends  not  only  on  the  probability  of 
the  good,  but  on  the  character  of  the  appetence.  The 
hope  which  sways  one  person  powerfully  may  have  no 
charms  to  another.  There  are  people  in  ecstacy  at  being 
invited  to  a  fashionable  party  which  has  no  attractions 
whatever  to  others,  who  would  rather  have  a  day's  fish- 
ing or  hunting.  One  man  is  buoyed  up  all  his  life  with 
the  expectation  of  his  reaching  a  high  position  of  power 
or  fame ;  another  looks  down  on  all  this  because  he  aims 
at  securing  mental  cultivation  or  spiritual  excellence. 
Hope  has  a  purifying  effect  when  properly  directed  ;  it 
purifies  us  even  as  the  objects  to  which  it  looks,  say  God 
and  heaven,  are  pure. 

Apprehension,  Dread,  Terror,  Horror,  Despair.  These 
are  different  degrees  of  the  same  feeling,  determined  by 
the  greatness  of  the  evil  and  the  probability  of  its  reach- 
ing us.  The  extent  of  the  evil  is  estimated  not  by  any 
absolute  standard,  but  by  the  strength  of  the  appetence 
which  has  been  thwarted.  To  one  man  the  loss  of  money 
is  scarcely  felt  to  be  a  loss,  for  he  has  not  set  his  affec- 
tions on  wealth;  to  another  it  is  like  tearing  out  his  heart. 
To  many  the  loss  of  a  near  relative  stirs  the  soul  to  its 


122        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

lowest  depths ;  in  others  it  only  ruffles  the  surface,  like 
a  passing  breeze.  When  the  threatened  storm  is  very 
distant,  or  very  doubtful,  there  is  only  a  slight  tremor, 
enough  to  give  a  warning ;  but  as  it  comes  near  and  de- 
scends with  a  hurricane  power  there  are  awful  bowlings 
and  yawning  gulfs.  When  the  evil  is  steadily  pressing 
on  us  like  death,  it  is  dvead.  When  it  comes  suddenly 
upon  us,  say  the  news  of  a  lost  battle,  it  is  terror.  When 
all  hope  of  being  delivered  from  it  is  gone,  it  is  despair, 
which  is  the  darkness  left  when  all  the  lights  have  been 
extinguished,  and  the  man  feels  that  he  is  lost,  and  is 
tempted  to  give  up  exertion  and  lie  down  and  perish. 

"  Terror  causes  the  blood  suddenly  to  leave  the  extreme  parts  of 
the  frame;  the  countenance  becomes  livid,  the  brain  excited,  the 
large  arteries  distended  ;  the  heart  swells,  the  eyes  start,  the  mus- 
cles becomes  rigid  or  convulsed,  and  faintness,  or  perhaps  sudden 
death,  ensues."  (Moore,  part  III.)  In  terror  the  man  stands  with 
eyes  intently  fixed  on  the  object  of  his  fears,  the  eyebrows  elevated 
to  the  utmost,  and  the  eye  largely  uncovered  ;  or  with  hesitating 
and  bewildered  steps,  his  eyes  are  rapidly  and  wildly  in  search  of 
something.  "  Observe  him  farther  :  There  is  a  spasm  on  his  breast; 
he  cannot  breathe  freely;  the  chest  is  elevated;  the  muscles  of  his 
neck  and  shoulders  are  in  action  ;  his  breathing  is  short  and  rapid  ? 
there  is  a  gasping  and  convulsive  motion  of  his  lips,  a  tremor  on 
his  hollow  cheek,  a  gulping  and  catching  of  his  throat  ;  his  heart  is 
knocking  at  his  ribs,  while  yet  his  lips  and  cheeks  are  ashy  pale." 
"  The  heart  beats  quickly  and  violently,  so  that  it  paljjitates  or 
knocks  against  the  ribs  :  but  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  it  then 
works  more  efficiently  than  usual,  so  as  to  send  a  greater  supply  of 
blood  to  all  parts  of  the  body;  for  the  skin  instantly  becomes  pale, 
as  during  incipient  faintness.  The  paleness  of  the  surface,  however, 
is  probably,  in  large  part  or  exclusively,  due  to  the  vaso-motor  centre 
being  affected  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  the  contraction  of  the 
small  arteries  of  the  skin.  That  the  skin  is  much  affected  under 
the  sense  of  great  fear,  we  see  in  the  marvelous  and  inexplicable 
manner  in  which  perspiration  immediately  exudes  from  it.  This 
exudation  is  all  the  more  remarkable  as  the  sui-face  is  then  cold, 
and  hence  the  term  a  '  cold  sweat ; '  whereas  the  sudorific  glands  are 


PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  123 

properly  excited  into  action  when  the  surface  is  heated.  The  hairs 
also  on  the  skin  stand  erect,  and  the  su[)erficial  muscles  shiver.  In 
connection  with  the  disturbed  action  of  the  heart,  the  breatliing  is 
hurried,  the  salivary  glands  act  imperfectly,  the  mouth  becomes 
dry,  and  is  often  opened  and  shut.  I  have  also  noticed  that  under 
slight  fear  there  is  a  strong  tendency  to  yawn.  One  of  the  best 
marked  symptoms  is  the  trembling  of  all  the  muscles  of  the  body; 
and  this  is  often  first  seen  in  the  lips.  From  this  cause,  and  from 
the  dryness  of  the  mouth,  the  voice  becomes  husky  or  indistinct,  or 
may  altogether  fail.  Ohstupul,  steteruntque  coince  et  vox  faucibus 
hausit."  There  are  other  symptoms  :  "  The  pupils  are  said  to  be 
enormously  dilated,  or  may  be  thrown  into  convulsive  movements. 
The  hands  are  alternately  clinched  and  opened,  often  with  a  twitch- 
ing movement.  The  arms  may  be  protruded  as  if  to  avert  some 
dreadful  danger,  or  may  be  thrown  wildly  over  the  head."  (Darwin, 
c.  xii.) 

"  Horror  differs  from  both  fear  and  terror,  although  more  nearly 
allied  to  the  last  than  to  the  first.  It  is  more  full  of  sympathy  with 
the  sufferings  of  others  than  engaged  with  our  own.  We  are  struck 
•with  horror  even  at  the  spectacle  of  artificial  distress;  but  it  is  pe- 
culiarly excited  bj-  the  real  danger  or  pain  of  another.  We  see  a 
child  in  the  hazard  of  being  crushed  by  an  enormous  weight,  with 
sensations  of  extreme  horror.  Horror  is  full  of  energy:  the  body  is 
in  the  utmost  tension,  not  unnerved  by  fear.  The  flesh  creeps,  and 
a  sensation  of  cold  seems  to  chill  the  blood;  the  term  is  applicable  of 
*  damp  horror.'  "     (Bell,  Essay  vii.) 

"  Despair  is  a  mingled  emotion.  While  terror  is  in  some  measure 
the  balancing  and  distraction  of  a  mind  occupied  with  an  uncertainty 
of  danger,  despair  is  the  total  wreck  of  hope,  the  terrible  assurance 
of  I'uin  having  closed  around  beyond  all  power  of  escape.  The  ex- 
pression of  despair  must  vary  with  the  nature  of  the  distress  of  which 
it  is  the  acme.  In  certain  circumstances  it  will  assume  a  bewildered, 
distracted  air,  as  if  madness  were  likely  to  afford  the  only  relief 
from  the  mental  agony.  Sometimes  there  is  at  once  a  wildness  in 
the  looks,  and  total  relaxation  as  if  falling  into  insensibility,  or  there 
is  upon  the  countenance  of  the  desperate  man  a  horrid  gloom;  the 
eye  is  fixed,  yet  he  neither  sees  nor  hears  aught,  nor  is  sensible  of 
what  surrounds  him  ;  the  features  are  shrunk  and  pale  and  livid, 
and  convulsions  and  tremors  affect  the  muscles  of  the  face."  (Bell, 
Essay  vii.) 


124       EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

Shyness  is  a  feeling  arising  from  a  sensitive  apprehen- 
sion as  to  the  opinion  that  may  be  formed  of  us  by  others. 
It  leads  us  to  retire  into  the  shade  and  hide  ourselves 
from  the  public  gaze ;  like  Viola, 

"  Who  never  told  her  love ; 
But  let  coueealment,  like  a  worm  in  the  bud, 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek." 

Shame  is  a  modification  of  the  same  feeling  in  which  we 
shrink  from  exposing  our  person,  or  it  may  be  our  guilt, 
for  fear  of  reproach.  Modesty  and  Impudence  belong  to 
the  same  class.  In  the  former  we  shrink  from  displaying 
our  excellences,  or,  it  may  be,  from  asserting  our  rights. 
It  is  not  so  much  an  emotion  as  a  virtue.  In  Impudence 
we  pay  no  regard  to  propriety  and  we  defy  the  opinion 
of  others. 

"  Some  persons  flush  up  at  any  sudden  and  disagreeable  recollec- 
tion." In  regard  to  Blushing,  "The  theory  which  appears  to  me 
most  probable,  though  it  may  at  first  seem  rash,  is  that  attention 
closely  directed  to  any  part  of  the  body  tends  to  interfere  with  the 
ordinary  and  tonic  contraction  of  the  small  arteries  of  that  part. 
These  vessels,  in  consequence,  become  at  such  times  more  or  less 
relaxed,  and  are  constantly  filled  with  arterial  blood.  This  ten- 
dency will  have  been  much  strengthened  if  frequent  attention  has 
been  paid  during  many  generations  to  the  same  part,  owing  to  nerve 
force  readily  flowing  along  accustomed  channels,  and  by  the  power 
of  inheritance.  Whenever  we  believe  that  others  are  depreciating 
or  even  considering  our  personal  appearance  our  attention  is  vividly 
directed  to  the  outer  and  visible  parts  of  our  bodies;  and  of  all  such 
parts  we  are  most  sensitive  about  our  faces."     (Darwin,   c.  xiii.) 

Anxiety.  It  presupposes  an  object  in  which  we  are 
interested  and  a  threatened  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the 
attainment  of  it.  The  interest  in  it  keeps  the  eye  fixed 
on  the  object,  and  fears  spring  up  as  we  discover  hin* 
drances  standing,  like  the  angel  seen  by  the  prophet's  ass 
with  the  drawn  sword,  in  the  way.     When  the  impel- 


PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  125 

ling  passion  is  a  tempest,  the  soul  may  be  in  an  agitated 
state,  like  a  ship  in  a  storm,  now  dizzy  and  trembling 
on  the  ridge  of  the  wave,  and  forthwith  down  in  the 
depths.  How  tremulous  the  hand  of  the  youth  as  he 
presents  a  letter  to  a  patron  who  has  the  means  of  be- 
friending him,  and  of  a  mother  presenting  a  petition  for 
the  reprieve  of  her  son.  How  fluttered  is  the  lover  who 
has  sent  off  a  proposal  to  a  loved  one  and  is  waiting  for 
an  answer.  What  risings  and  fallings,  what  elevations 
and  depressions,  what  ebbs  and  flows.  How  terrible  the 
agony  of  the  mother  as  she  watches  by  the  sick-bed  of 
her  son  on  the  night  of  the  crisis  of  the  fever.  Some 
have  felt  the  anxiety  so  keenly  that  they  have  almost 
wished  that  the  decision  were  against  them,  rather  than 
that  they  should  be  thus  tossed.  In  such  cases  the  hopes 
only  make  the  fears  more  horrific,  as  the  lightnings  re- 
veal the  density  of  the  surrounding  darkness. 

Disappointment.  The  phrase  may  be  used  in  a  more 
general  or  a  more  specific  sense.  It  may  be  applied  to 
every  case  in  which  an  appetence  has  been  frustrated, 
that  is,  has  not  gained  its  object.  I  have  been  using 
it  in  this  sense,  in  this  treatise,  in  stiict  conformity,  I 
believe,  with  the  usage  of  our  tongue.  But  it  is  em- 
ploj^ed  in  this  pUice  in  a  more  specific  sense,  as  the 
counterpart  of  expectation.  A  good  has  been  hoped  for 
and  has  not  come.  Disappointment  as  an  emotion  arises 
when  the  expected  blessing  is  not  realized.  This  feel- 
ing is  strong  in  proportion  to  the  previously  entertained 
hope.  What  a  darkness  when  a  light  to  which  we  have 
long  been  looking  is  quenched  :  say  when  a  lover  finds 
that  the  person  beloved  has  been  amusing  herself  with 
him,  or  has  jilted  him  ;  or  when  a  man,  after  toiling  for 
years  or  a  life-time,  discovers  that  his  life  plan  has  been 
wrecked  and  dashed  helplessly  in  pieces.     A  peculiar  bit- 


126        EMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED   TO   ANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

terness  is  engendered  when  there  has  been  a  betrayal  of 
us  by  those  whom  we  loved  and  trusted,  or  to  whom  we 
committed  our  confidence  and  our  money.  On  the  other 
side,  wh:it  a  relief  when  a  threatening  cloud  long  hang- 
ing over  us  is  dispelled,  and  we  find  ourselves  in  light 
and  comfort,  with  friends  whom  we  mistrusted  standing 
by  us. 

A  peculiarity  is  imparted  to  these  prospective  feelings 
when  our  hopes  and  fears  have  arisen  from  the  acts  of 
others.  There  is  the  Hope  of  Approbation,  of  smiles  and 
favors  from  friends  to  whom,  in  consequence,  we  become 
attached.  There  is  the  fear  of  enmity  from  those  who 
are  prejudiced  against  us,  or  of  revenge  on  the  part  of 
those  whom  we  have  offended.  There  is  Horror  at  atro- 
cious coniluct,  as,  for  example,  when  we  hear  of  an  un- 
natural son  striking  or  killing  a  father. 

I  am  indebted  to  Professor  Osborn,  of  Princeton  Col- 
lege, for  the  following  account  of  the  Anatomy  of  Expres- 
sion :  — 

The  principal  muscles  which  come  into  play  in  the  expression  of 
the  emotions  in  the  face  are  grouped  about  the  centres  of  expression 
in  pairs.  The  eyes  and  the  mouth,  moreover,  are  especially  provided 
with  circular  muscles  which  comjjletely  surround  them.  The  action 
of  these  muscles  not  only  changes  the  natural  form  of  the  features  in 
repose  by  drawing  them  into  new  positions,  but,  as  they  shorten  in 
contraction,  the  skin  is  thrown  into  a  series  of  folds  or  wrinkles  which 
have  come  to  possess  almost  as  important  a  meaning  in  expression  as 
changes  in  the  features  themselves.  After  contraction,  the  muscles 
and  features  gradually  relax  into  repose.  Beside  the  pairs  of  sim- 
ilar muscles  upon  opposite  sides  of  the  face,  we  find  pairs  upon 
the  same  side  with  an  opposed  action;  for  example,  those  which 
respectively  raise  and  lower  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  it  is  a 
curious  fact  that  in  all  cases  such  muscles  are  employed  in  exactly 
opposite  emotions.  The  muscles,  however,  very  seldom  work  singly; 
they  usually  act  in  groups;  and  in  some  cases  the  most  delicate  shades 


PROSPECTIVE   EMOTIONS. 


12T 


of  expression  arise  from  the  combination  of  two  muscles  which  may 
be  said  to  partly  oppose  each  other.  All  the  true  muscles  of  expres- 
sion are  supplied  by  a  single  nerve,  the  Facial;  others,  such  as  those 
used  in  mastication,  are  only  indirectly  connected  with  expression 
and  are  supplied  by  different  nerves. 

Following  ISir  Charles  Bell,  we  may  consider  these  muscles  in  three 
groups :  I.  Those  surrounding  the  eye  ;  II.  Those  moving  the  nos- 
trils ;  III.  'i'hose  surrounding  the  mouth. 

I.  1.  The  Occqiito-frontalis  descends  over  the  forehead  to  the  eyebrows. 
Its  action  is  simply  to  raise  tiie  eyebrows  and  throw  the  forehead  into  transverse 
folds.  2.  The  Orbicularis  palptbrarum.  This  muscle  lies  in  a  circle  about 
the  eye  ;  the  outer  tibres  are  very  strong  and  draw  the  eyebrows  down,  oppos- 
ing the  occipito-frontalis,  and  closing  tlie  eye  violently,  while  the  innar  fibres 
gently  close  the  eye.  3.  The  Corrugator  supercilii  arises  from  the  bridge  of 
the  nose  ;  it  extends  outwards  immediately  beneath  the  eyebrows,  and  knits  the 


Explanation  of  the  Figure.     (After  Froriep.) 

1.  Occipito-frontalis.  2.  Orbicularis  palpebrarum.  3.  Corrugator  supercilii.  5. 
Pyramidalis.  6.  Levator  labii  proprius,  algcque  nasi.  8.  Orbicularis  oris.  9.  Levator 
labii  proprius.  10.  Levator  angnli  oris.  11.  Zygomaticus.  12.  Buccinator.  13.  De- 
pressor anguli  oris.     15.   Quajratus  menti. 


128        EiMOTIONS   AS   DIRECTED    TO   ANIMATE    OBJECTS. 

eyebrows  together  in  contraction.     4.   The  muscles  of  the  eyeball  move  the 
pupil  in  different  directions. 

II.  5.  The  Pyrumidalis  nasi  extends  over  the  bridge  of  the  nose.  6.  The 
Levator  lab'd  propi-ius  alw/ue  nasi  descends  at  the  side  of  the  nostril,  and  in 
contraction  draws  up  the  nostril  and  that  part  of  the  lip  lying  in  front  of  the 
eye-tootli.  7.  The  Comprtssur  nasi  arises  from  the  bridge  of  the  nose,  and  its 
action  is  lo  expand  the  nostrils. 

III.  8.  The  Oibicularis  oris  surrounds  the  mouth,  controls  the  closing  of  the 
lips,  and  draws  the  corners  of  the  mouth  togetlier. 

9.  One  elevator  of  the  lip  (G)  has  already  been  mentioned  ;  this  muscle,  the 
Levator  labii  2<roprim,  raises  the  larger  part  of  the  upper  lip;  wliile,  10,  tlie 
Levator  anguli  oris  is  a  smaller  muscle  which  raises  merely  the  corner  of  the 
mouth.  11.  The  Zyyomaticus  draws  the  corner  of  the  mouth  upwards  and  out- 
wards. 12.  The  Buccinator  lies  upon  the  inner  side  of  the  cheek,  drawing  back 
the  corner  of  the  mouth.  The  following  muscles  of  this  group  oppose  those 
above.  13.  The  Depressor  anguU  oi-is  draws  down  the  corners  of  the  mouth. 
14.  Tlie/'fo^^i-//i«  ?/i?/ou/es  draws  down  the  mouth  and  chin.  15.  'T\\q  Quadratus 
menti  protrudes  the  lower  lip. 


We  observe  in  the  figure  that  the  chief  centres  of  expression,  the 
eyes  and  the  mouth,  have  their  muscles  arranged  upon  a  similar 
plan ;  they  each  have  a  circular  closing  muscle,  and  a  series  of  other 
muscles  arranged  like  the  spokes  of  a  wheel  to  exert  a  counter-pull. 
As  an  example  of  muscles  acting  singly  to  j^roduce  a  simple  expres- 
sion, we  find  the  Occipito-frontalis  raising  the  eyebrows  and  giv- 
ing the  iook  of  surprise  or  attention,  an  expression  which  Darwin 
explains  upon  the  "  Association  "  principle,  this  action  also  being 
necessary  when  we  open  the  eyes  wide  to  look  at  distant  objects. 
The  Corrufjators  also,  drawing  the  eyebrows  together,  give  a  fleeting 
expression  of  doubt  or  pain. 

As  a  simple  example  of  combined  action  let  us  look  at  the  so-called 
grief  muscles.  The  Orbicuiars,  Corrugators,  and  Pyramidals,  acting 
together,  draw  the  eyebrows  downwards  and  togetlier,  as  the  frown 
in  anger  or  perplexity,  but  when  their  action  is  partly  checked  by  the 
simultaneous  contraction  of  the  Frontalis^,  tlie  inner  ends  of  the  eye- 
brows and  the  inner  corners  of  the  eyelids  are  drawn  into  an  oblique 
position,  indicating  mental  pain  or  distress.  This  is  accompanied  by 
a  variety  of  folds  upon  the  forehead,  which  are  A'ery  different  from 
those  seen  in  tlie  simple  contraction  of  the  Frontalis.  The  first  signal 
of  real  distress  is  given,  especially  in  children,  by  the  drawing  down 
of  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  in  the  contraction  of  the  depressores 
anguli  oris. 

As   an  example  of  opposed  action,   we  find  the  first   signal  of 


PROSPECTIVE  EMOTIONS.  129 

laughter  is  given  by  the  levatores  anguli  oris  wliich  raise  the  corners 
of  the  mouth  :  at  the  same  time  tlie  orhiculars  relax  and  tlie  whole 
upper  lip  is  raised,  the  mouth  is  still  further  drawn  back ;  then  as  the 
real  laughter  or  convidsive  movements  of  the  chest  begin,  the  eyelids 
are  closed,  but  this  seems  to  be  principally  for  purposes  of  protection. 
With  this  exception,  laughter  seems  to  reverse  every  muscular  action 
which  accompanies  the  expression  of  grief,  illustrating  the  general 
principle  of  "  antithesis." 

The  principal  authorities  for  the  above  are  the  works  of  Sir  Charles 
Bell  and  Charles  Darwin.  The  latter  was  greatly  aided  by  the  very 
ingenious  experiments  of  Dr.  Duchenne  upon  the  electrical  stimula- 
tion of  the  nerves  supplying  the  different  muscles  of  expression, 
described  in  his  "  Mecanisme  de  la  Physionomie  Himiaine.^'  In  these 
experiments,  accompanied  by  photography,  it  was  in  many  cases  con- 
clusively shown  that  certain  facial  expressions  depend  solely  upon  the 
contraction  of  certain  muscles.  In  other  cases,  where  the  result  de- 
pended upon  the  contraction  of  a  group  of  muscles,  the  experiments 
were  less  successful,  and  the  expression,  as  shown  in  the  photographs, 
is  unnatural. 


CHAPTER  III. 

EMOTIONS   CALLED   FORTH  BY  LSrANIMATE  OBJECTS. 
THE   ESTHETIC. 

SECTION  I. 

iESTHETICAL    THEORIES. 

This  introduces  us  to  the  feelings  called  forth  by  those 
objects  which  are  called  Beautiful,  Picturesque,  Ludicrous, 
and  Sublime.  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson  reckoned  these 
as  constituting  Senses,  such  as  the  sense  of  Beauty,  the 
Sense  of  the  Ludicrous.  The  French  writers  spoke  of 
them  as  Gout,  which  English  and  Scotch  writers  trans- 
lated Taste,  and  discussed  the  nature  and  pleasures  of 
Taste ;  and  the  phrase  is  still  habitually  employed  in  our 
language  —  as  when  we  talk  of  persons  of  taste.  Of  a 
later  date,  following  Kant  and  the  Germans,  the  feel- 
ings to  which  I  refer  have  been  called  fx^sthetic,  and  the 
science  which  treats  of  the  corresponding  objects,  aesthet- 
ics. None  of  these  phrases  is  unexceptional.  They  all 
seem  to  refer  to  bodily  senses,  emotions  which  certainly 
proceed  from  a  higher  department  of  our  nature.  The 
phrase  aesthetics  may  be  employed  till  another  and  a 
better  be  devised  and  generally  accepted. 

The  opinions  which  have  been  entertained  by  eminent 
men  as  to  the  Beautiful  may  be  represented  as  three  in 
number. 


f(  CNIVEKSITY  )j 

iESTHETICAL   THEORIES.  131 

(1.)  There  are  those  ivho  hold  that  it  consists  of  some 
mental  quality/  perceived  hy  the  mind,  as  existing  in  ob- 
jects. Whatever  objects  possess  this  quality  are  to  be 
reckoned  as  beautiful,  those  without  it  are  to  be  held  as 
non-beautiful.  This  theory  was  started  by  the  oldest 
thinker  who  lias  speculated  on  the  subject :  I  refer  to 
Plato,  who  may  be  regarded  as  the  founder  of  the  science 
of  sesthetics.  According  to  him  there  had  been  an  Idea 
in  or  before  the  Divine  Mind  from  all  eternity  ;  which 
idea  is  so  far  impressed  on  objects  on  the  earth  and  in 
the  heavens.  So  far  as  objects  partake  of  this  Divine 
Idea  they  are  beautiful;  and  the  mind  of  man,  being 
formed  at  first  in  the  image  of  God,  is  capable  of  rising, 
by  means  of  philosophic  contemplation,  to  a  Pure  Love 
(called  ever  since  Platonic  Love),  which  discei-ns  and 
appreciates  the  beauty.  This  beauty  consists  essentially 
in  order  opposed  to  disorder,  in  harmony  and  proportion. 
It  is  not  sensation  nor  utility ;  it  is  mind,  king  of  heaven 
and  earth,  bringing  forms,  sounds,  and  colors  under  limi- 
tation. He  treats  of  the  subject  in  the  "•  PhaBdrus,"  the 
"Banquet,"  the  "Philebus,"  and  the  "Greater  Hippias." 
He  makes  Socrates  say,  "  For  the  Celestial  Aphrodite 
herself,  the  goddess  of  all  beauty,  being  well  aware  that 
mere  pleasure  and  all  sorts  of  sensuous  gratification  have 
no  element  of  limit  in  themselves,  introduced  Law  and 
Order,  to  which  limitation  necessarily  belongs."  He  is 
greatl}^  struck  with  the  properties  of  certain  mathemati- 
cal figures.  "  When  I  talk  of  the  beauty  of  forms,  I  do 
not  understand,  as  most  people  might,  certain  shapes  of 
living  animals,  or  of  painted  animals,  but  my  argument 
refers  to  lines,  straight  or  curved  generally,  and  to  what- 
ever figures,  plain  or  solid,  are  made  with  a  straight  or 
a  curved  outline,  by  rules  and  plumb-lines,  or  by  com- 
passes and  the  turner's  lathe,  —  things  quite  familiar  to 


132      EMOTIONS   CALLED   FORTH   BY   INANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

you.  Now,  with  regard  to  all  these  things,  I  say  that 
they  are  beautiful,  not  relatively,  as  so  many  other  things 
are,  but  that  by  their  very  nature  they  are  essentially 
and  eternally  beautiful,  and  that  they  are  accompanied 
by  certain  peculiar  pleasures  which  have  no  affinity 
whatsoever  with  the  pleasurable  affection  produced  by 
common  irritants  and  stimulants.  And  of  coloi's  also, 
and  the  pleasures  connected  with  them,  the  same  thing 
may  be  predicated."  He  perceives  a  peculiar  beauty  in 
certain  triangles  which  have  remarkable  properties  in 
themselves  or  are  capable  of  producing  new  figures  by 
juxtaposition.  He  instances  the  right-angled  isosceles 
triangle,  which  has  the  two  angles  at  the  base,  each 
equal  to  half  a  right  angle ;  the  ratio,  being  of  2  to  1, 
always  presents  one  unvarying  type  of  great  beauty.^ 
With  all  the  Greeks  the  t6  Kakov  consisted  in  that  on 
which  order  has  been  imposed,  as  opposed  to  matter 
(tiAv?),  which  is  waste  and  formless. 

Since  the  time  of  Plato  this  theory,  which  in  a  general 
way  we  may  call  Platonic,  has  appeared  and  reappeared 
in  the  speculations  of  profound  thinkers.  Aristotle  views 
the  beautiful  under  various  forms,  but  represents  it  in  his 
"  Metaphysics  "  as  being  essentially  order  (ra^ts),  and 
this,  in  that  which  is  bounded  (wptcr/AeVov).  The  great 
philosophic  divine,  Augustine,  represents  beauty  as  con- 
sisting in  order  and  design.  Francis  Hutcheson,  who  has 
written  much  on  this  subject,  maintains  that  it  consists 
in  unity  with  variety.  Give  us  mere  unity  or  uniformity 
and  we  have  no  beauty ;  but  give  us  variety  also,  and 
there  is  beauty  in  proportion  to  the  variety.  Give  us 
variety  merely,  and  there  is  no  beauty ;  but  let  there  be 
unity  to  combine  the  variety,  and  there  is  beauty  in  pro- 
portion to  the  unity. 

^  See  On  Beauty,  by  Professor  Blackie. 


^STHETICAL   THEORIES.  133 

(2.)  There  are  those  who  are  seeking  to  show  that 
beauty  consists  in  certain  objective  qualities  in  the  things 
themselves.  This  theory  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  hist 
but  appears  in  a  somewhat  different  form.  According 
to  the  Phitonic  view,  there  is  beauty  only  so  far  as  the 
high  quality  is  perceived  by  the  mind,  say  proportion, 
harmony,  or  unity  with  variety.  According  to  the  sec- 
ond theory,  the  beauty  is  in  the  object  itself,  whether 
the  mind  perceives  it  or  not.  Not  a  few  in  our  day  are 
striving  to  express  the  qualities  of  the  beautiful  in  math- 
ematical formulae. 

(3.)  There  are  those  ivho  maintain  that  beauty  is  pro- 
duced by  Association  of  Ideas.  The  influence  of  associa- 
tion engendering  feelings  of  the  beautiful  was  pointed 
out  clearly  and  judiciously  by  Francis  Hutcheson,  in  his 
works  "On  Our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virtue"  (1725) 
and  "  On  the  Passions."  The  same  line  of  remark  was 
followed  by  Beattie,  the  well  known  Scotch  poet  and 
metaphysician.  The  author  who  has  carried  out  these 
views  to  the  greatest  (indeed  to  an  extravagant)  extent 
is  the  Rev.  Archibald  Alison,  in  his  "  Essays  on  the 
Nature  and  Principles  of  Taste."  I  shall  endeavor  to 
give  a  summary  of  his  views.  He  saj's  :  "  In  the  course 
of  this  investigation  I  shall  endeavor  to  sliow,  fiist,  that 
there  is  no  single  emotion  into  which  these  varied  effects 
can  be  resolved;  that,  on  the  contrary,  every  simple  emo- 
tion, and  therefore  every  object  which  is  capable  of  pro- 
ducing any  simple  emotion,  may  be  the  foundation  of  the 
complex  emotion  of  Beauty  or  Sublimity.  But,  in  the 
second  place,  that  this  complex  emotion  of  Beautj^  or 
Sublimity  is  never  produced  unless,  beside  the  excite- 
ment of  some  simple  emotion,  the  imagination  also  is 
excited,  and  the  exercise  of  the  two  faculties  combined 
in  the  general  effect."     To  illustrate  this,  he  says,  let  us 


134      EMOTIONS    CALLED   FORTH   BY   INANIMATE   OBJECTS. 

look  upon  a  wide,  extended  plain,  covered  with  waving 
grain,  whitening  unto  the  harvest.  We  are  not  to  sup- 
pose that  tliere  is  anj^-hing  beautiful  in  this  scene,  con- 
sidered in  itself ;  or  that  it  calls  forth  any  separate  feel- 
ing to  be  regarded  as  a  feeling  of  the  beautiful.  But  the 
field  raises  the  idea  of  fertility  and  riches  ;  we  think  of 
the  animated  beings  to  be  fed  and  sustained  by  the  exu- 
berant grain,  of  the  happiness,  plenty,  and  peace  thereby 
accruing,  and  the  whole  flow  of  feeling  constitutes  the 
sentiment  of  the  beautiful.  We  look  upon  a  time-worn 
tower  ;  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  it  than  in  any 
other  aggregation  of  stone  and  lime,  but  our  minds  are 
carried  back  to  long  past  days  and  deeds  of  chivalry  and 
prowess,  and  the  whole  feeling  constitutes  a  sense  of  the 
Venerable.  We  gaze  on  a  water-fall ;  it  is  only  a  collec- 
tion of  rock  and  water,  but  it  raises  a  feeling  of  power 
which  branches  out  into  varied  ideas  and  feelings,  consti- 
tuting our  sentiment  of  the  Sublime. 

SECTION  11. 

PHYSICAL    BEAUTY. 

The  feeling  of  beautj',  I  have  no  doubt,  commences  in 
bodily  sensation.  There  are  sounds,  colors,  odors,  tastes, 
touches,  forms,  which  pleasantly'  affect  the  organism. 
These  are  the  beginnings,  and  I  rather  think  they  go  up, 
as  an  element,  into  our  higher  aesthetic  affections.  It  is 
certain  tliat  if  an  object  be  felt  as  harsh  by  our  sensory 
organs  it  will  not  be  appreciated  as  beautiful.  In  the 
case  of  some  of  the  senses,  with  taste,  smell,  and  feeling, 
the  special  animal  senses,  there  are  only  pleasant  sensa- 
tions, and  nothing  that  can  be  described  as  sesthetic.  But 
in  the  higher  senses,  in  sounds,  colors,  and  forms,  there 
are   harmonious  relations   in  the  forces  operating  upon 


PHYSICAL  BEAUTY.  135 

and  in  the  organism,  and  these,  being  perceived  sponta- 
neously, though  very  obscurely  it  may  be,  raise  higher 
classes  of  feeling  which  constitute  the  sense  of  beauty. 

3Iusical  SoiiJids.  Those  who  have  the  pecuHar  gift 
feel  themselves,  as  they  listen  to  the  strains  of  music,  to 
be  in  a  state  of  pleasurable  excitement.  From  the  time 
of  Pythagoras  it  has  been  known  that  the  sounds  are 
characterized  by  definite  mathematical  relations.  "  Two 
sets  of  vibrations,  regular  each  in  itself,  and  bearing  a 
relation  to  each  other  by  uniting  together,  form  a  vibra- 
tion which  is  also  regular,  and  the  whole  impression  is 
regular ;  whereas  two  vibrations  which  bear  no  commen- 
surate ratio  to  each  other,  however  regular  each  may  be 
in  itself,  will  not,  by  their  union,  produce  a  regular  vibra- 
tion, and  the  result  is  not  music,  but  a  noise.  So,  also, 
when  the  nerve  has  been  affected  with  a  particular  vibra- 
tion, it  will  necessarily  accommodate  itself  with  more 
ease  to  a  new  vibration,  the  more  simple  the  ratios  that 
this  vibration  bears  to  the  former,  so  that  those  which 
bear  the  simplest  ratios  to  each  are  most  in  harmony 
with  each."  Some  such  law  as  this,  it  is  said,  generalizes 
all  the  phenomena  of  harmony  and  discord.  Hence  it  is, 
when  two  notes  are  in  harmony  the  lengths  and  tensions 
of  the  strings  producing  the  sound  bear  certain  ratios  to 
each  other,  and  that  when  the  notes  are  discordant  the 
ratios  are  incommensurable.  "Music,"  says  Mr.  Sully, 
"  affords  three  distinct  orders  of  gratification.  First  of 
all,  in  its  discrete,  in  its  melodic  and  harmonic  combi- 
nations, it  satisfies,  seemingly,  simple  sensibilities  of  the 
ear."  Helmholtz  supposes  that  the  cooperation  of  several 
continuous  nervous  processes  in  distinct  fibres  is  an  ade- 
quate cause  of  the  pleasures  of  harmony.  Mr.  Sully  con- 
tinues, "  Further,  in  its  arrangement  of  these  tonic  ele- 
ments, under  certain  forms  of   tune,  accepted  rhythm. 


136  .ESTHETICS. 

key,  and  undulation  of  key,  it  presents  numerous  beau- 
ties of  symmetry  and  unity,  which  gratefully  employ  the 
intellectual  faculties.  Finally,  it  exercises  a  mysterious 
spell  on  the  soul,  stirring  up  deep  currents  of  emotion, 
and  awaking  vague  ideas  of  the  Infinite,  the  Tragic,  and 
the  Serene."  ^  This  is  all  I  am  able  to  say  of  the  be<iuty 
of  music,  in  which,  be  it  observed,  we  have  the  concur- 
rence of  three  distinct  classes  of  agencies,  first,  the  ratios 
in  the  vibrations  of  sound,  secondly,  the  adapted  state  of 
the  organism,  and  thirdly,  the  ideational  and  emotional 
mental  state  produced. 

Beauty  in  Forms.  From  the  days  of  Plato,  or  rather 
of  Pythagoras,  attempts  have  been  made  to  find  out  a 
law  of  the  forms  felt  to  be  beautiful,  founded  on  mathe- 
matical principles,  and  capable  of  being  expressed  quan- 
titatively. Some  are  laboring  to  discover  the  guiding 
rule  of  those  curves  which  we  admire  so  much  in  the 
gothic  widow.  It  has  been  asserted  that  certain  mathe- 
matical forms,  with  modifications,  are  the  bases  of  the 
beautiful  proportions  in  Grecian  architecture.  Hogarth's 
line  of  beauty  was  a  serpentine,  formed  by  drawing  a 
line  round  from  the  apex  to  the  base  of  a  tall  cone,  a 
fiigure  which  suggests  design  and  grace.  But  this  is 
only  one  of  a  number  of  lines  of  beauty.  I  confidently 
cherish  the  belief  that  sooner  or  later  we  may  have  a 
mathematical  expression  of  the  laws  of  form  discerned 
as  beautiful. 

But  even  when  this  is  successfully  accomplished,  we 
have  not  touched  the  more  important  problem.  How  do 
these  mathematical  forms  raise  the  feeling  of  beauty  ? 
Nor  have  we  explained  everything  when  we  show  that 
the  measured  undulations  which  enable  us  to  see  them 
produce  a  pleasant  sensation  on  the  eye  and  optic  organ- 

1  Sensation  and  Intuition,  p.  220. 


PHYSICAL   BEAUTY.  137 

ism.     For  the  question  arises,  How  should  this  sensation 
produce  an  aesthetic  feeling  in  the  mind  ? 

Our  analysis  has  shown  that  there  is  an  idea,  or  a  per- 
ception, as  the  nucleus  of  all  emotion.  May  we  not  find 
a  competent  idea  in  the  contemplation  of  harmonious 
sounds  and  well  proportioned  forms?  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  in  all  aesthetic  feeling  there  is  a  perception, 
or  rather  a  succession  of  rapid  perceptions,  of  relation, 
order,  and  harmony,  indicating  mind  or  purpose.  It  is 
certain  that  the  feeling  of  beauty  will  not  rise  if  there 
be  an  evident  want  of  unity,  symmetry,  and  proportion : 
if  there  be  a  limb  torn  from  the  body,  or  a  side  from  the 
tree,  or  a  prominent  hulk  in  one  part  of  a  building  with- 
out a  corresponding  prominence  in  another  to  balance 
it.  The  perception  of  the  harmony  is  derived  from  the 
orderly  affection  of  the  sensory  organism,  which,  again, 
is  produced  by  the  orderly  vibrations  of  the  air  or  light. 
As  the  regular  affections  are  noticed  there  is  an  idea  of 
order,  and  of  mind  producing  the  order.  This  idea  gives 
rise  to  a  feeling  which  attaches  us  to  the  object  which 
we  declare  to  be  beautiful ;  we  are  drawn  towards  it,  and 
come  to  delight  in  it  and  love  it. 

Beauty  of  Color.  "Light  is  pleasant  to  the  eyes" 
always  when  it  is  not  excessive.  I  believe  that  all  the 
various  hues  into  which  it  can  be  decomposed  are  also 
agreeable.  A  bright  light  attracts  the  eyes  of  infants, 
as  also  of  certain  insects  which  whirl  round  the  candle. 
Children  delight  in  bonfires,  illuminations,  and  rockets. 
Red  attracts  the  eyes  of  young  people,  and  of  savages,  as 
does  also  yellow,  to  a  less  degree.  Green,  the  most  prev- 
alent color  in  nature,  has  a  more  soothing  influence,  as 
it  comes  from  leafage,  and  sky,  and  shallow  sea.  While 
these  colors  gratify  the  organism,  I  do  not  regard  the 
sensations  as  aesthetic,  any  more  than  the  pleasures  of 
taste  and  smell. 


138  ESTHETICS. 

The  aesthetic  feelings  proper  do  not  arise  till  we  have 
two  colors  in  a  relation  to  each  other.  There  may  be  a 
low  form  of  beauty  in  what  have  been  called  melodious 
colors,  that  is,  colors  which  glide  into  others  that  are  con- 
tiguous in  the  scale,  as  when  blue  runs  gracefully  into 
green,  as  we  often  see  in  pigeons,  and  yellow  into  red, 
as  we  see  in  geraniums.  There  is  a  higher  form  of  beauty, 
attracting  the  eye  and  stimulating  the  mind,  in  harmony 
of  colors.  Two  colors  are  said  to  be  in  harmony  and  are 
called  complementary,  and  when  together  they  make  up 
the  white  beam. 

In  the  last  age  the  accepted  doctrine  was  that  of  Brews- 
ter, that  the  three  primary  colors  in  the  beam  were  red, 
yellow,  and  blue,  which  by  their  mixtures  give  us  all 
other  colors  ;  thus  blue  and  yellow  mixed  give  us  green. 
The  accepted  doctrine  of  the  present  day  is  that  of  Young, 
accepted  by  Helmholtz,  that  the  primary  colors  are  red, 
green,  and  violet ;  thus  yellow  is  made  of  red  and  green. 
There  is  a  correspondence  between  these  colors  and  the 
organism.  "  Dr.  Young  supposes  that  there  are  in  the 
eye  three  kinds  of  nerve-fibres,  the  first  of  which,  when 
irritated  in  any  way,  produces  the  sensation  of  red,  the 
second  the  sensation  of  green,  and  the  third  that  of  violet." 

It  is  universally  admitted  that  complementary  colors 
are  felt  to  be  beautiful  when  they  fall  simultaneously 
under  the  eye.  But  the  white  beam,  when  it  falls  upon 
our  atmosphere,  and  upon  objects  on  our  earth,  is  often 
divided  into  two  parts,  which  are  complementary  of  each 
other;  and  these  presented  to  the  eye  raise  an  aesthetic 
feeling.  We  may  notice  these  harmonies  in  the  evening 
sky,  and  they  allure  our  eye  towards  them  and  call  forth 
emotion.  We  have  a  like  division  of  rays  when  the  beam 
falls  on  plants.  It  falls  upon  the  leaf  and  the  green  rays 
are  reflected  by  the  chlorophyl,  and  the  others  are  said 


INTELLECTUAL   BEAUTY.  139 

to  be  absorbed  according  to  laws  which  have  not  yet 
been  determined.  But  these  absorbed  rays  are  not  ex- 
tinguished or  lost.  I  believe  they  tend  to  come  forth  in 
some  part  of  the  plants  as  colors  which  will  be  comple- 
mentary to  the  green  and  take  the  hue  of  red.  The  eye 
delights  to  see  the  fruit  of  the  cherry,  the  rose,  and  the 
thorn,  and  the  berry  of  the  holly,  the  yew,  and  the  com- 
mon barberry,  the  mountain  ash,  and  unnumbered  others 
peeping  forth  from  the  green  leaves.  In  like  manner, 
when  the  white  beam  falls  on  the  petals  of  flowers,  the 
blue-red,  which  is  the  most  common  color  of  the  corolla, 
will  be  reflected,  and  the  other  rays  will  come  out  in 
some  sort  of  yellow. 

A  like  harmony  may  be  detected  in  the  plumage  of 
birds  which  often  have  a  tawny  hue,  being  a  red-yellow, 
with  other  portions  of  a  dark  blue.  In  more  ornamented 
birds  we  have  a  yellow-red  with  a  blue-green.  Many 
shells  of  mollusca  are  characterized  by  an  orange-yellow 
ground  with  bluish-purple  spots.  It  has  been  noticed 
that  attention  has  been  paid  to  harmony  of  colors  in  the 
finer  specimens  of  stained  glass,  and  this  commonly  from 
a  delicate  taste,  and  not  from  a  knowledge  of  the  scien- 
tific laws  of  color. 

The  general  result  reached  is,  that  in  lovely  colors 
there  is,  first,  a  relation  of  the  rays  of  light ;  second,  an 
adaptation  of  the  rays  to  the  organ  of  vision  ;  and  thirdly, 
a  pleasurably  excited  state  which  deserves  to  be  called 
aesthetic. 

SECTION  ni. 

INTELLECTUAL   BEAUTY. 

Profound  thinkers  iu  various  ages  and  cotmtries  have 
been  in  wonderful  agreement  with  each  other  in  main- 
taining that  there  is  a  beauty  arising  from  harmony  and 


140  ^ESTHETICS. 

proportion.  It  may  be  maintained  that  the  spontaneous 
perception  of  a  number  of  relations  among  objects  has  a 
tendency  to  raise  up  feelings  of  beauty  always  when  it  is 
associated  with  mind,  with  order,  design,  benevolence,  or 
moral  excellence.  We  may  find  proofs  and  illustrations 
of  this  in  all  the  relations  which  the  mind  of  man  can 
discover. 

(1.)  The  mind  feels  a  pleasure  in  observing  sameness 
and  differences.  The  mind  demands  a  unity  in  the 
beautiful  object,  but  this  does  not  indicate  a  meaning 
unless  there  be  also  variety.  There  is  a  satisfaction  in 
noticing  the  variety  of  our  mental  states,  of  our  ideas, 
feelings,  moods,  while  the  self  abideth.  We  like  to  see 
the  repetition  with  infinite  diversities  of  prevailing  forms 
in  the  vegetable  and  animal  kingdoms.  Every  part  of 
the  plant,  the  whole  tree,  the  branch,  the  leaf,  is  after 
one  model,  while  every  part  is  diversified  to  suit  its  func- 
tion. A  great  uniformity  is  given  to  the  higher  animals 
by  the  skeleton  being  formed  of  vertebrae,  constructed  of 
like  pieces,  while  every  part  is  adapted  to  its  function. 

(2.)  The  mind  is  pleased  in  noticing  the  relation  of 
whole  and  i^arts^  'particularly  of  means  and  ends.  On  a 
concrete  or  a  complex  whole  being  presented  to  us  we 
are  anxious,  for  the  sake  of  comprehending  it,  to  have  it 
resolved  into  parts,  and  as  scattered  objects  fall  under 
our  eye  we  wonder  if  they  cannot  be  combined.  We 
are  gratified  when  the  complicated  whole  can  be  broken 
into  comprehensible  pieces,  and  when  the  pieces  can  be 
made  to  fit  into  each  other  to  make  up  a  regular  whole. 
A  feeling  of  delight  is  apt  to  be  called  forth  when  we 
discover  a  number  of  independent  circumstances  combin- 
ing to  the  production  of  one  end,  as  we  notice  all  the 
parts  of  a  machine  cooperating  to  effect  its  purpose,  and 
all  parts  of  the  bodily  frame,  bones,  ligaments,  and  mus- 


INTELLECTUAL   BEAUTY.  141 

cles,  to  promote  the  easy  movement  of  a  joint  and  the 
comfort  of  the  animal. 

(3.)  We  are  impelled  to  seek  and  to  notice  resem- 
hlances,  and  are  delighted  when  we  can  coordinate  ob- 
jects and  gather  them  into  classes.  The  mind  feels  bur- 
dened when  it  is  obliged  to  carry  with  it  innumerable 
particulars.  It  is  relieved  when  it  can  put  these  under 
heads.  It  is  delighted  when  it  discovers,  either  in  art  or 
in  nature,  that  order  is  established,  and  has  evidently 
been  intended,  say  in  the  arrangement  and  distribution  of 
objects  in  a  room  or  in  a  garden,  or  in  the  forms  of  plants 
and  animals.  A  feeling  of  a  high  order  is  gradually  gen- 
dered as  we  discover  and  contemplate  species,  genera, 
orders,  and  kingdoms  in  animate  nature,  and  trace  a  pro- 
gression from  man  to  angel,  archangel,  and  God  Himself. 

(4.)  There  is  a  kind  of  sesthetic  feeling  excited  even 
by  the  perception  of  the  relations  of  space:  there  is  a 
sort  of  beauty,  as  Plato  proclaimed,  and  as  all  mathema- 
ticians maintain,  in  certain  mathematical  figures ;  we  feel 
it  to  be  so,  as  we  discover  their  properties.  We  have 
seen  that  there  is  pleasing  sensation  excited  in  our  ocular 
organism  by  certain  forms  caused  by  the  regular  vibra- 
tions of  the  rays  of  light.  These  harmonies,  being  no- 
ticed, will  produce  a  feeling  of  a  very  lofty  character. 
Our  minds  are  filled  with  grandeur  when  we  contemplate 
the  movements  of  the  moon,  the  earth,  the  sun,  and  the 
constellations  in  their  spheres.  How  interesting  to  no- 
tice the  same  shape  in  the  tree  and  its  leaf ;  to  trace 
the  spiral  tendency  of  all  the  appendages  of  the  plant,  of 
buds,  leaves,  scales,  branches;  and  to  discover  in  pines 
and  firs  evei'y  pai't  taking  a  conical  shape  —  the  whole 
contour  of  the  tree  is  a  cone,  cut  off  any  portion  and  the 
part  cut  off  is  a  cone,  the  fruit  organs  are  cones,  and  the 
very  amenta  are  conical. 


142  AESTHETICS. 

(5.)  The  relations  of  time  may  raise  a  feeling  of 
beauty.  The  alternation  of  day  and  night,  the  periodi- 
cal return  of  the  seasons  of  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and 
winter,  the  revolutions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  and  the 
mighty  cycles  or  eeons  of  eternity,  all  elevate  the  mind 
as  we  contemplate  them. 

(6.)  The  contemplation  of  the  relations  of  quantity/  is 
an  intellectual  rather  than  an  emotional  exercise.  But 
symmetry,  balances  and  counterbalances,  equipoises,  com- 
pensations, and  harmonies,  all  of  which  are  quantitative, 
have  always  been  supposed  to  have  a  place  in  the  senti- 
ment of  the  beautiful.  They  are  always  required,  and 
are  noticed  in  architecture.  They  enter,  in  the  way  I 
have  described,  as  ideas  to  stir  up  feeling. 

(7.)  Is  it  not  because  we  delight  to  follow  the  rela- 
tions of  active  property/  that  we  feel  such  pleasure  in  the 
activity  which  everywhere  falls  under  our  eye?  We  de- 
light to  see  the  moving  cloud,  the  waving  foliage,  the 
driving  wind,  the  leaping  stream,  and  to  waicli  the  rest- 
less ocean  ;  we  experience  a  higher  emotion  when  we 
gaze,  not  only  on  activity,  but  on  life,  on  the  flying  bird, 
the  frisking  lamb,  the  gamboling  colt,  the  romping  girl, 
the  frolicksome  boy. 

(8.)  There  is  greater  difficulty  in  showing  how  causa- 
tion raises  any  sesthetic  feeling.  Yet,  surely,  we  are 
pleased  when  we  can  trace  an  effect  to  its  cause  and 
notice  a  cause  producing  its  effect.  There  is  an  incipient 
feeling  of  beauty  raised  by  ingenious  machinery,  in  which 
we  have  a  number  of  forces  uniting  to  accomplish  an 
end.  But  the  aesthetic  sentiment  is  apt  to  be  swallowed 
up  in  the  utilitarian,  which  is  the  stronger  in  our  nature, 
that  is,  we  contemplate  the  useful  end  secm-ed  by  the 
engines.  A  like  remark  may  be  made  in  regard  to  final 
cause  as  discoverable  everywhere  in  nature.     There  is  a 


THE  IDEA  RAISING   THE  .ESTHETIC   FEELING.  143 

feeling  of  beauty  called  forth  as  we  notice  a  conspiracy 
of  means  to  produce  a  good  end:  say  nerves,  muscles, 
and  joints  combining  to  enable  us  to  move  our  arm  in  a 
variety  of  directions ;  or  rays  of  light  from  the  sun  mil- 
lions of  miles  away,  and  coats  and  humors  of  the  eye  and 
the  sensitive  retina,  and  the  color  cones,  cooperating  so 
that  we  see  the  objects  of  nature  with  their  hues  and 
tints.  But  as  we  examine  these  processes  our  thoughts  are 
apt  to  be  absorbed  by  them,  and  the  sesthetic  feeling  fades 
into  dimness. 

SECTION  IV. 

THE   IDEA   RAISING   THE   ESTHETIC   FEELING. 

We  are  not  to  understand,  from  what  has  been  said, 
that  the  sentiment  of  beauty  consists  in  a  pleasant  sensa- 
tion or  in  a  perception  of  relations.  These  may  consti- 
tute the  root  and  stalk,  but  they  are  not  the  flower ;  rising 
out  of  the  sensations  and  relations  there  must  be  a  feel- 
ing. This  feeling,  if  there  be  any  truth  in  our  analysis 
of  emotions,  must  proceed  from  an  idea.  The  question 
is.  What  is  the  idea  ? 

There  must,  I  think,  be  some  perception  of  relations. 
But  such  a  perception  does  not  of  itself  call  forth  the  emo- 
tion. Indeed,  if  we  look  merely  to  the  relation,  and  dwell 
upon  it,  no  feeling  will  come  forth.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  we  study  the  relations  of  quantity  in  arithmetic,  and 
inquire  into  complex  and  recondite  causes  in  philosophic 
speculation,  the  whole  mental  energy  will  be  expended 
in  the  intellectual  exercise  and  there  will  be  no  apprecia- 
tion of  beauty.  In  order  to  the  feeling  being  raised 
there  must,  so  it  appears  to  me,  be  some  idea  of  adapta- 
tion, harmony,  or  end,  in  short,  of  some  mental  quality, 
such  as  order  or  design.  It  is  only  when  the  perception 
of  relations  goes  on  to  this  that  the  sesthetic  feeling 


144  ESTHETICS. 

properly  so  called  is  evoked.  If  it  stop  short  of  this 
there  may  be  pleasant  impressions,  profound  thought, 
and  high  admiration,  but  these  do  not  amount  to  a  sense 
of  beauty.  It  is  when  the  relations  are  regarded  as  signs 
of  some  high  quality  of  intelligence  that  the  feeling  is 
called  forth ;  and  the  precise  nature  of  the  feeling  is 
determined  by  the  nature  of  the  idea. 

It  might  be  difficult  to  specify  all  that  this  idea  con- 
templates. It  may  be  said,  generally,  that  it  is  mind  dis- 
played in  an  infinite  variety  of  ways.  The  more  promi- 
nent manifestations  have  been  mentioned  and  dwelt  upon 
by  profound  thinkers,  from  Plato  downwards,  who  dis- 
cover in  nature  and  in  art  symmetrj'",  balancings,  coun- 
terpoises, proportions,  harmonies,  beneficences.  Ruskin, 
in  his  richly-colored  though  somewhat  fanciful  works, 
has  discovered  other  forms,  such  as  sacrifice,  truth,  power, 
life,  obedience.  The  idea  of  these,  not  in  their  abstract 
shape,  but  in  objects,  raises  emotions  which  differ  and 
vary  according  to  the  objects  contemplated,  or  rather  the 
quality  discerned  in  the  objects. 

It  is  of  moment  to  notice  one  very  important  element 
commonly  entering  into  the  emotional  idea.  We  are  apt 
to  clothe  with  personality  and  with  feeling  the  inanimate 
objects  in  which  we  are  interested.  In  consequence 
these  objects  gather  round  them  the  feelings  —  which 
we  have  described  in  the  last  chapter  —  directed  to  ani- 
mate objects.  The  feelings  arising  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  living  beings,  ourselves  or  others,  are  the  first  to 
arise  in  the  mind,  and  they  are  almost  always  stronger 
than  those  evoked  by  things  without  life  or  feeling. 
But  they  will  go  on  by  association  to  attach  themselves 
to  objects  in  nature  and  in  art  which  seem  to  show 
mental  qualities,  such  as  power,  complacency,  and  benefi- 
cence.    We  are  apt  to  personify  such  objects.     We  even 


THE   IDEA   RAISING    THE   ESTHETIC   FEELING.  145 

give  tliem  a  sex:  the  stronger  we  think  of  and  represent 
as  a  male,  as  a  man,  and  the  more  delicate  and  tender 
as  a  female,  a  woman,  and  we  call  them  he  and  she,  as  if 
they  were  human;  thus  most  nations  give  the  sun  mas- 
culine, and  the  moon  feminine  qualities.  We  seem  to 
believe  momentarily  that  the  objects  must  have  life  and 
feeling  and  intention.  We  feel  as  if  they  possess  the 
power  they  display,  and  mean  the  good  they  confer. 
We  come  to  regard  nature  as  rejoicing  or  as  grieving 
with  us.  We  feel  as  if  the  stormy  ocean  were  indignant 
and  raving ;  as  if  the  tempest  were  offended  and  howl- 
ing at  us ;  as  if  the  sea  birds  were  chiding  at  us ;  as  if 
the  odors  were  enjoying  their  own  richness ;  and  the 
fruits  relishing  their  own  sweetness ;  and  the  flowers 
gazing  on  their  own  forms  and  colors  ;  and  the  woods 
resting  in  their  solitudes ;  and  the  streams  expressing 
their  feelings  in  their  leapings,  and  in  their  sighings. 
"  They  drop  upon  the  pastures  of  the  wilderness :  and 
the  little  hills  rejoice  on  every  side.  The  pastures  are 
clothed  with  flocks ;  the  valleys  also  are  covered  over 
with  corn ;  they  shout  for  joy,  they  also  sing." 

We  have  thus  got  a  starting-point  for  the  sentiment. 
The  mental  activity  is  stirred  up  by  the  sensation  and 
the  correlations,  and  an  idea  of  a  high  kind  is  produced, 
accompanied  with  emotion.  This  idea  raises  up  other 
ideas  according  to  the  laws  of  association,  especially  by 
the  high  law  of  correlation,  bringing  in  resemblances, 
contrasts,  means  and  ends,  causes  and  consequents,  and 
many  others,  all  connected  with  one  another,  and  tend- 
ing to  raise  up  like  feelings.  This  accounts  for  the  train 
of  images  all  of  a  sort  which  Alison  brings  into  such 
prominence,  and  which  swells  the  river  by  new  streams 
ever  flowing  in. 

There  is,  therefore,  a  truth  in  the  doctrine  that  all 


146  ESTHETICS. 

beauty  arises  from  association.  But  it  is  not  just  the 
association  of  ideas  spoken  of  by  Hutcheson,  Beattie, 
Alison,  Jeffrey,  and  the  Scottish  school  of  metaphysicians. 
The  idea  raised  by  the  correlations  perceived  is  a  very 
lofty  idea,  it  is  specially  the  Idea  of  Plato,  of  mind  in 
objects,  of  intelligence  or  beneficence;  and  it  is  this  idea, 
and  not  the  train  of  images,  that  calls  forth  the  true  emo- 
tion of  beauty.  When  this  idea  with  its  feeling  has  been 
evoked  it  will  be  followed  by  a  whole  train  of  thoughts 
and  fancies,  in  the  manner  described  by  Alison,  thus  con- 
tinuing and  enhancing  the  emotive  state,  and,  in  fact, 
making  it  very  complex,  and  often  very  intense. 

There  is  a  sense,  then,  in  which  it  may  be  said  that 
there  are  beautiful  objects,  and  that  there  is  beauty  in 
the  object :  there  is  a  proportion,  harmony,  or  benignancy, 
and  it  is  the  business  of  science  to  discover  what  this  is. 
But  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  beauty  is  in  the  mind ; 
for  it  is  when  these  high  qualities  are  perceived  that  the 
feeling  is  evoked.  There  is  a  sense  in  which  the  aesthetic 
taste  is  a  derivative  and  a  complex  one,  implying  intel- 
lectual and  emotive  powers,  and  a  process.  There  is  a 
sense  in  which  it  is  simple  and  original,  for  the  idea  is 
suggested  spontaneously,  and  calls  forth  the  feeling  nat- 
urally in  all  men. 

By  this  theory  we  can  account  for  the  sameness  and 
yet  diversities  of  esthetic  taste  among  mankind.  There 
are  faculties  in  all  men  which  tend  toward  the  produc- 
tion of  a  sense  of  beauty,  a  pleasure  felt  in  certain  sounds, 
shapes,  and  colors,  the  disposition  to  observe  relations, 
and  to  discover  mind  in  them,  and  an  emotion  ready  to 
rise.  These  things  give  an  aesthetic  capacity  to  all  men, 
and  lead  to  a  certain  community  of  taste.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  each  of  these  implied  elements  may  differ  in 
the  case  of  different  individuals.     This  arises  from  the 


THE   IDEA  RAISING   THE  ESTHETIC  FEELING.  147 

absence  or  presence  of  the  various  elements,  and  from  their 
relative  measure  of  strength.  A  man  without  a  musical 
ear  can  have  no  relish  for  tunes,  but  may  have  a  strong 
passion  for  colors.  The  man  of  dull  capacity  may  not  be 
able  to  discern  the  harmonies  that  enter  into  the  higher 
forms  of  beauty  in  art  and  nature.  The  man  of  low 
moral  tone  may  not  be  capable  of  forming  elevating  ideas. 
The  man  of  heavy  temperament  may  never  rise  to  rapture 
on  any  subject.  Then,  different  individuals  have,  for- 
tunately, a  taste  for  different  objects.  Some  can  enjoy 
beauty  of  art  but  not  beauty  of  scener3\  Some  love 
flower  painting  but  have  no  pleasure  in  gazing  on  his- 
torical paintings.  Some  discover  a  beauty  in  this  man  or 
that  woman  which  others  cannot  discern.  This  difference 
of  taste  arises  mainly  from  the  relative  strength  of  the 
elements  which  produce  the  sentiment,  from  the  nature 
of  the  organism  in  some  cases,  and  the  aptitude  to  observe 
or  not  to  observe  certain  relations,  or  to  rise  or  not  to  rise 
to  noble  ideas. 

The  sense  of  beauty  differs  at  different  periods  of  the 
age  of  the  individual,  and  of  the  race.  The  fact  is,  the 
mind  requires  to  be  educated  up  to  the  perception  of 
the  higher  kinds  of  beauty.  Mere  physical  beauty  may 
be  felt  by  all  who  have  the  appropriate  bodily  organ,  by 
the  child,  the  boor,  the  savage.  But  the  recognition  of 
nobler  forms  of  loveliness  implies  intelligence  and,  possi- 
bly, a  careful  training.  The  child,  the  peasant,  can  enter 
thoroughly  into  tiie  spirit  of  the  simple  Scotch,  or  Irish, 
or  Negro  melodies,  but,  while  he  may  wonder  at  them, 
has  no  appreciation  of  the  grand  Italian  and  German 
oratorios.  He  may  have  a  pleasure  in  looking  on  a  rich 
plain  or  a  grassy  bank,  but  he  is  astonished  when  he  hears 
persons  raving  so  about  mountain  peaks  or  passes ;  for 
himself  he  would  rather  be  safe  on  the  level  ground  below. 


148  -ESTHETICS. 

SECTION  V. 

WHAT    IS    THE   THUE    TUEORY   OF   BEAUTY? 

There  are  some  agreements  and  many  differences  among 
those  who  have  speculated  on  this  subject.  The  sentiment 
is  so  delicate,  is  often  so  fugitive,  arises  in  such  different 
circumstances,  and  is  so  complex  in  its  associations  that 
it  is  difficult  to  determine  its  precise  nature.  Some  hold 
that  it  is,  or  at  least  that  at  the  basis  of  the  whole  there 
is,  a  simple,  un resolvable  feeling.  Others  argue  that  it 
differs  so  widely  in  different  persons,  ages,  and  nations 
that  it  must  be  derived  from  other  principles,  or  be  the 
result  of  circumstances.  Let  us  combine  the  results  that 
have  been  reached  in  the  course  of  our  observation  and 
reflection,  and  see  if  they  correspond  and  come  up  to  our 
actual  experience. 

In  certain  cases  our  sensitive  organism  is  affected,  but 
in  a  way  tlmt  indicates  relations  and  harmonies  which 
are  perceived,  often  in  an  occult  way,  by  the  mind ;  such 
is  the  case  Avith  colors,  sounds,  forms.  In  other  cases  the 
order  is  noticed  without  there  being  any  organic  or  extra- 
organic  act  or  affection,  say  an  order  of  unity  with  differ- 
ence, or  a  concurrence  of  powers.  Still,  all  this  does  not 
amount  to  beauty,  or  the  emotion  of  beauty.  But  this 
prepares  the  way  for  an  idea  which  calls  forth  the  emo- 
tion. Spontaneously  we  discover  the  result  of  mind,  of 
intelligence,  of  design,  perhaps  of  benevolence,  in  these 
adapted  relations.  This  idea  raises  up  emotion,  which 
constitutes  the  true  aesthetic  feeling. 

Regarded  in  this  light,  the  sentiment  of  beauty  may 
vary  infinitely  by  reason  of  the  mixture  of  the  elements. 
The  smoke  curling  from  the  cottage,  in  the  sweet  vales, 
say,  of  county  Wicklow  or  Kilkenny,  in  Ireland,  deepens 


WHAT   IS   THE   TRUE   THEORY    OF   BEAUTY  ?  149 

the  sentiment  of  quiet  and  peacefulness  as  we  cherish 
the  idea  of  happy  dwellers  within.  The  Scotch  and 
Swiss  lakes  are  seen  to  sleep  so  quietly  in  scenes  of  ter- 
ror. The  deep  gorges  in  the  fiords  of  Norway,  and  of 
the  Saginaw  in  Canada,  guarded  so  strongly  on  both 
sides,  are  relieved  by  the  living  streams  in  their  bosoms. 
The  awfuhiess  of  the  cataract  is  often  iUuminated  by  the 
sheen  and  sparkle  of  the  waters,  which  may  be  irradiated, 
as  at  Niagara  and  the  Staubbach,  by  the  rainbow  on  its 
spray,  compared  by  Byron  to  love  and  madness.  Often 
is  there  life  communicated  to  a  scene  in  nature,  which 
would  otherwise  be  hard  or  dull,  by  a  tree,  or  a  plant,  or 
a  little  flower  clinging  to  the  rocks,  or  coming  out  of  the 
crevices  modestly  to  show  its  beauties  and  timidly  to 
look  for  a  brief  season  upon  the  day  and  the  scene  around 
it.  These  fleecy  clouds  lying  on  our  hills  and  dales  add 
to  their  loveliness  as  our  day-dreams  give  a  freshness  to 
our  dull  habitual  life.  Scenes  of  terror  are  often  soft- 
ened by  the  leafy  foliage  in  which  they  are  embosomed. 
The  beauties  of  the  Rliiue  are  greatly  enhanced  by  the 
antiquated  towers  associated  with  adventure,  and  the 
vineyards  on  its  banks.  In  all  such  cases  the  sentiment 
is  intensified  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the  object,  by  the 
dissimilarity  and  contrast.  In  other  cases  all  the  objects 
conspire  to  produce  one  effect;  the  mountains  in  deep 
shadow,  the  steep  precipice,  the  turreted  rock  may  all 
be  before  ns  and  in  one  view.  The  howling  wind,  the 
agitated  wave,  the  sliip  driven  helplessly,  all  enhance  our 
idea  of  the  power  of  these  moving  elements.  It  has  to 
be  added  that  there  may  be  associations  "which  completely 
counteract  and  suppi'ess  the  aesthetic  feeling.  The  man 
weighed  down  with  earthly  cares,  or  with  sorrow,  cannot 
appreciate  beauty.  Solomon  tells  us  how  vain  it  is  to 
singr  soncrs  to  a  heavy  heart. 


150  ESTHETICS. 

SECTION   VI. 

INFLUENCE   OF    ASSOCIATION    ON    TASTE, 

There  is  truth  in  the  doctrine  which  resolves  beauty 
into  association  of  idea.  Alison  maintains  that  the  sen- 
timent of  beauty  is  not  "a  simple  but  a  complex  emo- 
tion ;  that  it  involves  in  all  cases  the  production  of  some 
simple,  or  the  exercise  of  some  moral,  affection ;  and, 
secondly,  the  consequent  excitement  of  a  peculiar  exer- 
cise of  the  imagination;"  and  that  "the  peculiar  pleas- 
ure of  the  beautiful  or  sublime  is  only  felt  when  these 
two  effects  are  conjoined,  and  the  complex  emotions  pro- 
duced." It  is  thus  that  "the  gay  lustre  of  a  morning  in 
spring,  or  the  mild  radiance  of  a  summer  evening,  the 
savage  majesty  of  a  wintry  storm,  or  the  wild  magnifi- 
cence of  a  tempestuous  ocean  give  rise  to  a  variety  of 
images,  and  the  sentiment  of  beauty  is  composed  of  the 
pleasures  of  emotion  and  the  pleasures  of  imagination." 
There  is  truth  in  this  theory,  but  it  is  not  the  whole 
truth.  It  accounts  for  so  much  of  the  mental  phenome- 
non. It  shows  how  the  feeling  is  prolonged  and  intensi- 
fied by  the  image  after  image  that  is  raised  up.  But  it 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  embrace  the  whole.  It  does 
not  show  very  clearly  how  the  feeling  is  started  at  first, 
nor  how  the  images  pursue  a  certain  train,  all  fitted  to 
call  forth  emotions  of  one  character.  We  have  to  find 
something  in  the  object  to  evoke  the  feeling,  and  to  con- 
tinue the  images,  all  of  a  certain  kind.  This  we  find  in 
the  sensation  in  the  case  of  music,  color,  and  form,  and 
in  the  perception  of  relations  indicative  of  mind  in  all 
cases.  We  thus  reach  the  idea  which  raises  the  feeling, 
and  which  calls  up  by  association  other  ideas  of  a  like 
kind  to  produce  their  special  feelings,  and  thus  cai'ry  on 
the  mental  affection  indefinitely. 


COMPLEXITY   OF   THE   ESTHETIC  AFFECTION.  151 

Every  one  knows  that  association  may  give  an  arti- 
ficial beauty  to  objects.  I  knew  a  girl  who  was  ac- 
quainted with  only  one  lady  of  high  rank,  and  as  she 
was  affected  with  palsy  the  girl  learned  to  associate 
lady-like  manners  with  shaking,  and  so  indulged  in  it. 
An  unpleasant  association  may  overcome  a  very  decided 
taste.  I  know  that  a  powerful  relish  for  a  certain  kind 
of  food  may  be  counteracted  by  its  being  painful  in  the 
digestion,  so  tliat  the  food  is  now  regai'ded  with  aversion. 
It  is  often  remarked  that  familiarity  may  remove  the 
first  impressions  left  by  ugliness.  People  offensive  to  the 
bodily  sense  may  come  to  be  delighted  in  because  of  their 
amiable  or  noble  qualities.  It  is  the  same  with  scenes  of 
nature;  a  man's  birth-place  may  have  no  beauty  in  itself, 
but  his  heart,  if  he  have  a  heart,  ever  warms  towards  it. 

In  such  associations  we  transfer  our  feelings  to  the 
objects. 

"  Sweet  bird !  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 
Thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 
No  winter  in  thy  year." 

Such  would  be  our  feelings  in  the  bower;  we  transfer 
them  even  to  inanimate  objects. 

"  His  very  foot  has  music  in  't 
As  he  comes  up  the  stair." 

SECTION  VII. 

COMPLEXITY   OF    THE   iESTHETIC    AFFECTION. 

Viewed  in  a  wide  sense  the  sentiment  of  beauty  is  a 
very  complex  one,  embracing  such  elements  as  sensa- 
tions, intellectual  perceptions,  ideas,  memories,  associa- 
tions, feelings.  There  may  be  more  or  fewer  of  these 
in  any  jesthetic  state.  When  they  combine  and  concur 
the  sentiment  is  a  very  powerful  one,  and  the  object  is 


152  ESTHETICS. 

regarded  as  very  beautiful.  Thus  there  ai^e  scenes  in 
which  every  sensation  is  pleasant,  balmy  air,  blue  sky, 
lovely  flowers,  where  we  see  power  working  in  that 
water -fall  and  conspu-ing  agents,  and  ideas  of  plenty 
and  happiness  suggested,  as  that  river,  rising  in  rugged- 
ness,  is  seen  running  into  fertile  plains.  There  are  paint- 
ings in  which  the  coloring  is  rich,  the  scenes  illustrative 
of  highest  charactei-,  and  associated  with  great  historical 
events.  Such  scenes  and  pictures  draw  all  e\'es,  and  at- 
tract all  hearts,  and  are  constantly  visited  by  persons 
capable  of  the  aesthetic  sentiment. 

Very  frequently  some  of  the  elements  only  are  in  ex- 
ercise, or  some  of  them  are  strong,  and  others  are  weak. 
As  the  feeling  is  determined  by  the  idea,  and  the  idea 
gets  its  force  from  the  appetence,  to  which  it  corre- 
sponds, the  sentiment  takes  the  special  color  of  the  ideas. 
It  is  the  aim  of  some  authors,  and  of  some  artists,  to 
furnish  a  set  of  pictures,  all  which  raise  only  one  kind  of 
idea,  say  of  sorrow,  or  sympathj'^,  as  by  Sterne,  in  his 
"  Sentimental  Journey,"  and  Mackenzie,  in  his  "  Man  of 
Feeling,"  and  the  emotion  is  often  made  veiy  intense. 
But  if  it  is  not  relieved  in  some  way  the  mind  is  led, 
from  the  very  stretching  and  tension  to  which  it  is  sub- 
jected, to  break  away  from  it.  Our  most  successful 
painters  furnish  some  kind  of  escape  from  dismal  or 
painful  scenes,  as  Rembrandt,  by  the  light  being  made 
to  shine  in,  as  he  used  to  see  when  a  boy,  in  his  father's 
mill,  or  as  others  do,  by  introducing  an  innocent,  smil- 
ing child,  or  a  bright-eyed  plant,  into  scenes  of  blood  or 
terror.  A  judicious  introduction  of  such  relief  is  often 
the  mark  of  a  high  artist.  Shakespeare  is  true  to  na- 
ture when  he  places  so  near  each  other  dignity  and  buf- 
foonery, the  king  and  the  clown,  crying  and.  laughing, 
though  I  think  he  often  so  mingles  them  as  to  become 
grotesque. 


THE   PICTURESQUE.  153 

In  some  cases  the  sensation,  say  of  gorgeous  color  in  a 
landscape  or  a  painting,  or  of  luscious  sound  in  music, 
may  overwhelm  the  more  intellectual  elements.  Quite 
as  frequently  the  intellectual  exercise,  the  perception  of 
relations,  may  be  carried  too  far  and  rest  in  itself,  and 
arrest  the  higher  idea  and  feeling  ;  it  is  thus  that  a  crit- 
ical spirit  may  lessen  the  enjoyment,  and  the  connoisseur 
may  liave  less  pleasure  than  the  common  observer  in 
looking  at  a  work  of  art.  On  the  other  hand,  new,  and 
often  higher,  beauties  may  be  discovered  in  a  building,  or 
a  landscape,  by  a  more  careful  inspection,  which  detects 
further  harmonies.  In  some  the  idea  of  mental  qualities 
bulks  so  largel}'  that  it  fills  the  eye  to  the  exclusion  of 
everything  else,  and  they  gaze  on  order  and  on  love.  In 
others  the  feeling,  say  that  raised  by  music,  puts  the 
whole  soul  in  a  state  of  excitement,  and  very  much  stops 
contemplation.  In  very  many  cases  the  train  of  asso- 
ciation runs  in  so  strong  a  current  that  it  carries  all 
before  it. 

SECTION  VIII. 

THE    PICTURESQUE. 

This  is  not  the  same  as  the  beautiful.  That  bevy  of 
young  ladles  standing  on  one  of  the  promontories  of  the 
Antrim  coast,  or  of  the  Isle  of  Skye,  and  breaking  into 
raptures,  and  crying,  "  How  lovely,  how  loveh^  I  "  that 
company  of  mercantile  youths,  who  have  reached  the 
Tell  Countr}^  at  the  upper  end  of  the  Lake  Lucerne, 
and  are  looking  up  to  the  horrid  overhanging  masses 
of  rock  and  snow,  and  exclaim,  "  How  beautiful,  how 
beautiful !  "  have  certainly  not  been  instructed  (in  what- 
ever else  they  may  have  been)  in  the  science  of  taste. 
The  peculiarity  of  such  scenes  does  not  consist  in  their 
beauty,  which  always  soothes  and  softens  the  mind,  but 


I'A  j:sthetics. 

in  their  being  picturesque  or  sublime,  and  so  rousing  and 
stimulating  it. 

The  picturesque  may  best  be  explained  b}^  describing 
is  as  picture-like.  Everything  that  the  mind  can  vividly 
picture  is  picturesque.  The  scenes  which  possess  this 
quality  are  specially  addressed  to  the  phantasy  or  imag- 
ing power  of  the  mind.  Tlisy  stand  before  us  with  a 
marked  form  or  a  vivid  outline.  The  mass  of  objects  on 
the  earth  are  not  of  this  exciting  character.  Just  as  the 
ground  colors  of  nature  are  soft  or  neutral,  so  the  earth's 
common  scenes  are  irregular,  or  simply  rounded  in  their 
outline.  Yet  here  and  there  arise  picture-like  objects 
from  the  midst  of  them,  to  arrest  the  eye  and  print  them- 
selves on  the  fancy.  It  may  be  noticed  that  the  grass 
and  grain  of  the  earth  raise  up  their  sharp  points  from 
the  surface  to  catch  our  eye.  A  still  larger  proportion 
of  objects  above  us,  and  standing  between  us  and  the 
sky,  have  a  clear  outline  or  vivid  points.  This  is  the 
case  with  the  leaves,  and  the  coma  of  trees,  and  with 
not  a  few  rocks  and  mountains.  Rising  out  from  quieter 
scenes,  they  enliven,  without  exciting  the  mind,  and  tend 
to  raise  that  earthward  look  of  ours  and  direct  it  to 
heaven,  to  which  they  point. 

The  wide  extending  English  lawn  and  the  American 
prairie  are  verj^  lovely,  but  are  not  picturesque,  for  they 
want  rising  points  and  sharp  outlines.  For  the  same 
cause  the  boundless  forests  of  Germany  and  America, 
though  they  have  a  sort  of  sublimity,  cannot  be  described 
as  having  the  quality  of  which  I  am  speaking.  Moun- 
tains, such  as  we  have  in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  will  be- 
come sublime  merely  by  their  huge  bulk  or  towering 
height,  but  are  not  picturesque  unless  they  be  peaked, 
jagged,  or  precipitous.  All  that  has  a  sharp  point,  or  a 
sharp  edge ;  all  that  has  a  ridge,  or  is  rugged  ;  all  that 


THE   PICTURESQUE.  155 

is  steep  or  perpendicular,  is  especially  fitted  to  leave  its 
sharply  defined  image  in  the  mind.  The  very  Lombardy 
poplar  helps  to  relieve  the  tame  plain.  The  church- 
tower  or  spire  fixes  the  whole  village  in  the  memory. 
The  wind-mill,  though  not  the  most  improved  piece  of 
machinery,  and  though  the  movements  of  its  outstretched 
arms,  as  they  forever  pursue  without  overtaking  each 
other,  are  somewhat  awkward,  is,  notwithstanding,  a 
most  picturesque  object  as  seen  between  us  and  the  sky. 
The  ship,  with  its  pointed  masts  and  its  white  sails 
stretched  out  to  the  breeze,  makes  the  bay  on  which  it 
sails  look  more  lively  and  interesting.  More  imposing, 
there  are  the  bold  mountains  which  cleave  the  sky,  and 
the  sea-worn  rocks  which  have  faced  a  thousand  storms 
and  are  as  defiant  as  ever.  How  placid  does  the  lake 
sleep  in  the  midst  of  them,  sheltered  by  their  overhang- 
ing eminences  and  guarded  by  their  turreted  towers: 
heaven  above  looks  down  on  it  with  a  smile  and  is  seen 
reflected  from  its  bosom. 

-  Thei'e  are  narratives,  there  are  tales,  there  are  poems, 
which  may  happily  be  characterized  as  picturesque.  Of 
this  description  is  the  vivid  account  of  the  patriarchal 
life  in  the  book  of  Genesis  :  we  see,  as  it  were,  the  pei*- 
sons  and  the  scenes  before  us.  Such,  too,  are  the  narra- 
tives of  Herodotus,  in  which  he  makes  the  condition  and 
the  history  of  ancient  Egypt  and  other  Eastern  countries 
stand  so  picture-like  before  us.  In  our  own  language 
we  have  many  picturesque  writers.  Defoe  makes  every 
scene  so  lively  that  we  feel  as  if  we  were  looking  upon  it, 
and  every  incident  so  life-like  that  we  feel  as  if  we  were 
mingling  in  it.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  too,  sets  before  us  his 
old  castles  and  dungeon-keeps,  his  heroes  and  heroines, 
so  graphically  that  we  cannot  help  feeling  as  if  we  were 
spectators  and  actors  in  the  scenes,  and  not  mere  listeners 


156  ESTHETICS. 

to  a  tale  conjured  up  by  the  imagination  of  the  author. 
It  may  be  observed  of  all  such  picturesque  descriptions 
that  they  are  extremely  simple,  both  in  manner  and 
style  ;  the  authors  make  the  persons  and  events  stand 
out  clearly  and  distinctly  before  us,  like  a  statue  upon  a 
column  seen  between  us  and  a  bright  sky. 

SECTION  IX. 

THE   LUDICROUS. 

Hutcheson  says  that  it  is  difficult  to  speak  gravely 
of  laughter,  yet  the  gravest  writers  have  discoursed  of  it 
and  with  amazing  gravity.  Aristotle,  so  fond  of  bring- 
ing all  subjects  within  the  grasp  of  his  definitions,  has 
defined  it,  with  some  truth  but  certainly  not  with  the 
full  truth,  as  "  some  error  in  truth  or  propiiety,  but  at 
the  same  time  neither  painful  nor  pernicious."  Cicero  de- 
scribes it  as  "-  that  which  without  impropriety  notes  and 
exposes  an  impropriety,"  and  "  a  sudden  conversion  into 
nothing  of  a  long-raised  and  highly-wrought  expecta- 
tion." This  definition  may  fitly  apply  to  some  kinds  of 
wit,  but  certainly  not  to  all.  The  same  remark  applies 
to  the  definition  of  Hobbes,  who  gives  the  ludicrous  a 
very  selfish  origin,  and  makes  it  always  imply  pride, 
whereas  wit  and  humor  have  often  a  very  innocent  and 
kindly  origin.  According  to  him  "it  is  a  sudden  glory 
or  a  sense  of  eminency  above  others  or  our  former 
selves."  Upon  the  whole,  I  am  best  pleased  with  the 
definition  given  by  Samuel  Johnson  in  his  "  Life  of  Cow- 
ley :  "  "  Wit,  abstracted  from  its  effects  upon  the  hearer, 
may  be  more  rigorously  and  philosophically  considered 
as  a  kind  of  discordia  concors,  a  combination  of  dissimi- 
lar images,  or  discovery  of  occult  resemblances  in  things 
apparently  unlike."     It  certainly  often   arises  from  the 


THE  LUDICROUS.  157 

discovery  of  some  unexpected  resemblance  or  relation 
between  things  in  every  other  respect  dissimilar.  But  it 
might  be  equally  well  defined  as  a  concordia  discors,  and 
arises  from  the  discovery  of  unseen  differences  in  tilings 
which  seem  identical.  A  poor,  weak  man  in  rags  falls 
into  a  ditch  and  we  commiserate  him  and  hasten  to  help 
him.  A  vain  fool  extravagantly  dressed  tumbles  into 
the  same  ditch  and  we  are  amused  and  allow  him  to 
escape  from  the  mire  as  best  he  can.  In  the  former  case 
there  was  no  incongruity  between  the  person  and  his 
plight,  in  the  other  case  there  is,  and  the  sense  of  the 
ludicrous  is  awakened.  Punning,  which  is  not  the  high- 
est kind  of  wit,  consists  in  giving  a  word  a  new  and  un- 
expected application.  Parody,  as,  for  instance,  that  on 
the  "  Burial  of  Sir  John  ]\Ioore,"  entertains  us  because 
we  are  ever  comparing  the  parody  with  the  original 
piece  and  noting  their  incongruity.  An  incident  wliich 
would  in  no  way  affect  us  in  ordinary  circumstances  will 
often  raise  irrepressible  laughter  in  solemn  or  sacred 
positions.  A  very  small  event  occurring  in  a  church 
will  raise  a  titter,  while  the  same  occurrence  happening 
outside  would  never  be  noticed.  The  only  way  of  secur- 
ing the  return  of  composure  in  such  cases  is  to  allow  the 
laugh  to  get  its  proper  utterance  and  to  return  to  our 
proper  business  immediately  after.  I  have  seen  a  minis- 
ter and  a  thousand  grave  people  greatly  discomposed  by 
a  little  bird  coming  into  a  church  and  hopping  from  pew 
to  pew,  and  pew  to  pulpit,  with  a  solemn  beadle  chasing 
it  and  ever  failing  to  catch  it;  the  same  bird  hopping 
outside  would  have  raised  no  such  laughter.  It  is  owing 
to  the  circumstance  that  wit  arises  from  the  perception 
of  incongruity  that  it  is  so  easy  to  raise  laughter  by  a 
familiar  or  low  treatment  of  sacred  subjects.  All  such 
wit  has  in  it  the  essence  of  profanity,  and  should   be 


158  ^ESTHETICS. 

instantly  restrained.  Laughter  is  raised  when  a  mighty- 
cause  produces  a  weak  effect,  wlien  great  pretension 
issues  in  utter  failure,  when  loud  boasting  ends  in  a 
public  humiliation.  Kant  speaks  of  the  ridiculous  being 
called  forth  by  the  sudden  transformation  of  a  tense  ex- 
pectation into  nothing. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  philosophers  have  suc- 
ceeded in  giving  a  thoroughly  adequate  definition  of  wit, 
but  there  is  a  preacher  who  once  succeeded,  in  the  pulpit, 
in  giving  a  perfect  description  of  it,  though  I  do  not  see 
how  he  could  have  done  so  without  excitinij  the  laughter 
as  well  as  the  admiration  of  his  congregation.  The  fol- 
lowing, from  one  of  Isaac  Barrow's  sermons,  is,  in  respect 
both  of  thought  and  language,  one  of  the  most  compre- 
hensive passages  in  the  English  language:  "First  it 
may  be  demanded  what  the  thing  we  speak  of  is,  or  what 
this  facetiousness  doth  import.  To  which  question  I 
might  reply  as  Democritus  did  to  him  who  asked  the  def- 
inition of  a  man.  'T  is  that  which  we  all  see  and  know ; 
any  one  better  apprehends  what  it  is  by  acquaintance 
than  I  can  inform  him  by  description.  It  is  indeed  a 
thing  so  versatile  and  multiform,  appeai'ing  in  so  many 
shapes,  so  many  postures,  so  many  garbs,  so  variously 
apprehended  by  several  eyes  and  judgments,  that  it 
seemeth  no  less  hard  to  settle  a  clear  and  certain  notion 
thereof  than  to  make  a  portrait  of  Proteus,  or  to  define 
the  figure  of  the  fleeting  air.  Sometimes  it  lieth  in  pat 
allusion  to  a  knojj'n  story,  or  in  seasonable  application  of 
a  trivial  saying,  or  in  forging  an  apposite  tale;  sometimes 
it  playeth  in  words  and  phrases,  taking  advantage  from 
the  ambiguity  of  their  sense,  or  the  affinit}'  of  their 
sound ;  sometimes  it  is  wrapped  in  a  dress  of  humorous 
expression  ;  sometimes  it  lurketh  under  an  odd  simili- 
tude ;  sometimes  it  is  lodged  in  a  sly  question,  in  a  smart 


THE  LUDICROUS.  159 

answer,  in  a  quirkish  reason,  in  a  shrewd  intimation,  in 
cunningly  diverting  or  cleverly  retorting  an  objection  ; 
sometimes  it  is  couched  in  a  bold  scheme  of  speech,  in  a 
tart  irony,  in  a  lusty  hyperbole,  in  a  startling  metaphor, 
in  a  plausible  reconciling  of  contradictions,  or  in  acute 
nonsense ;  sometimes  a  scenical  representation  of  persons 
or  things,  a  counterfeit  speech,  a  mimical  look  or  gesture 
passetli  for  it;  sometimes  an  afjfected  simplicity,  some- 
times a  presumptuous  bluntness  giveth  it  being;  some- 
times it  risetli  only  from  a  lucky  hitting  upon  what  is 
strange,  sometimes  from  a  crafty  wresting  obvious  mat- 
ter to  tlie  purpose ;  often  it  consisteth  in  one  knows  not 
what,  and  apringeth  up  one  can  hardly  tell  how.  Its 
ways  are  unaccountable  and  inexplicable,  being  answer- 
able to  the  numberless  rovings  of  fancy  and  windings  of 
language.  It  is,  in  short,  a  manner  of  speaking  out 
of  the  simple  and  plain  way  (such  as  reason  teacheth 
and  proveth  things  by),  which,  by  a  pretty  surprising 
uncouthness  in  conceit  or  expression,  doth  affect  and 
amuse  the  fancy,  stirring  in  it  some  wonder,  and  breed- 
ing some  delight  thereto.  It  raiseth  admiration,  as  sig- 
nifying a  nimble  sagacity  of  apprehension,  a  special 
felicity  of  invention,  a  vivacity  of  spirit,  and  reach  of  wit 
more  than  vulgar ;  it  seeming  to  argue  a  rare  quickness 
of  parts,  that  one  can  fetch  in  remote  conceits  applicable ; 
a  notable  sldll,  that  he  can  dexterously  accommodate 
them  to  the  purpose  before  him  ;  together  with  a  lively 
briskness  of  humor  not  apt  to  damp  those  sportful  flashes 
of  imagination." 

Every  one  perceives  that  there  is  a  difference  between 
wit  and  humor.  Can  the  difference  be  pointed  out  and 
expressed  ?  I  believe  that  it  can.  Both  arise  from  per- 
ceived incongruities,  but  in  the  case  of  humor  the  incon- 
gruity has  some  relation  to  human  character,  whereas  wit 


160  ESTHETICS. 

may  arise  from  incongruities  in  thought,  in  word,  in  ac- 
tion. In  humor  we  find,  or  place,  or  conceive  persons 
in  ridiculous  situations  or  attitudes.  Humor,  therefore, 
implies  some  appreciation  of  huuiau  feeling.  Hence  it  is 
that  humor,  however  strange  it  may  seem,  is  very  com- 
monly associated  with  sympathy.  It  was  remarked  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Robert  Burns,  when  he  appeared  in 
Edinburgh,  that  in  his  conversation  there  was  a  strange 
combination  of  pathos  and  humor,  I  am  sure  that  these 
two  often  go  together,  humor  and  sympathy.  The  man 
who  never  laughs,  or  who  cannot  laugh  heartily,  I  sus- 
pect is  deficient  in  tenderness  of  heart,  while  he  may  be 
characteiized  by  many  virtues.  Certain  it  is  that  in  the 
writings  of  many  of  our  great  authors  pathos  and  humor 
are  found  in  the  closest  connection.  I  believe  that  the 
fountains  of  smiles  and  tears  lie  nearer  each  other  than 
most  people  imagine. 

"  We  have  seen  that  the  muscles  which  operate  upon  the  mouth  are 
distinguishable  into  two  classes,  — those  which  surround  and  control 
the  lips,  and  those  which  oppose  them,  and  draw  the  moulh  widely 
open.  The  effect  of  a  ludicrous  idea  is  to  relax  the  former,  and  to 
contract  the  latter;  hence,  by  a  lateral  stretching  of  the  mouth  and 
a  raising  of  the  cheek  to  the  lower  eyelid,  a  smile  is  produced.  The 
lips  are,  of  all  the  features,  the  most  susceptible  of  action,  and  the 
most  direct  index  of  the  feelings.  If  the  idea  be  exceedingly  ridicu- 
lous, it  is  in  vain  that  we  endeavor  to  restrain  this  relaxation,  and 
to  compress  the  lips.  The  muscles  concentring  to  the  mouth  pre- 
vail; they  become  more  and  more  influenced;  they  retract  the  lips, 
and  display  (he  teeth.  The  cheeks  are  more  powerfully  drawn  up, 
the  eyes  wiinkled,  and  the  eye  almost  concealed.  The  lachrymal 
gland  within  the  orbit  is  compressed  by  the  pressure  on  the  eyeball, 
and  the  eye  is  suffused  with  tears."  (Bell,  Essay  vi.)  "  During  ex- 
cessive laughter  the  whole  body  is  often  thrown  backward  and  shakes, 
or  is  almost  convulsed;  the  respiration  is  much  disturbed  ;  the  head 
and  face  become  gorged  with  blood,  with  the  veins  distended;  and 
the  orbicular  muscles  are  spasmodically  contracted  in  order  to  pro- 


THE   SUBLIME.  161 

tect  the  eyes.  Tears  are  freely  shed.  Hence,  as  formerly  remarked, 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  ])oint  out  any  difference  between  the  tear- 
stained  face  of  a  person  after  a  paroxysm  of  excessive  laughter  and 
after  a  hitler  crying  fit.  It  is  probably  due  to  the  close  similarity  of 
the  spasmodic  movements  caused  by  these  widely  different  emotions 
that  liystcric  paiients  alternately  cry  and  laugh  wiLh  violence,  and 
that  young  children  sometimes  pass  suddenly  from  the  one  to  the 
other  state."  (Darwin,  c.  viii.)  "When  the  angles  of  the  mouth 
are  depressed  in  grief  the  eyebrows  are  not  elevated  at  the  outer 
angles  as  in  laughter.  When  a  smile  plays  around  the  mouth,  or 
the  cheek  is  raised  in  laughter,  the  brows  are  not  ruffled  as  in  grief." 
(Bell,  Essay  vi.) 

SECTION    X. 

THE    SUBLIME. 

Every  one  feels  that  the  sentiment  of  the  sublime  dif- 
fers from  that  of  the  l)eautiful.  The  one  pleases  and 
delights,  the  other  overawes  and  yet  elevates. 

It  seems  to  me  that  whatever  tends  to  carry  away  the 
mind  into  the  Infinite  raises  that  idea  and  feeling  which 
are  called  the  sublime.  The  idea  embraces  two  elements, 
or,  rather,  has  two  sides.  First  the  infinite  is  conceived 
as  something  beyond  our  largest  phantasm,  that  is,  image, 
and  beyond  our  widest  concept  or  general  notion.  We 
exert  our  imaging  and  conceiving  power  to  the  utmost; 
but  as  we  do  so  we  are  led  to  perceive  that  there  is  vastly 
more  beyond.  Whatever  calls  forth  this  exercise  is  sub- 
lime, that  is,  excites  that  special  feeling  which  we  have 
all  experienced,  and  which  we  call  sublime. 

The  feeling  of  sublimity  is  always  called  forth  by  what- 
ever fills  its  imaging  power  and  yet  suggests  something 
further,  something  greater  and  higher.  A  great  height, 
such  as  a  great  mountain,  Mont  Blanc,  Monte  Rosa, 
Chimborazo,  raises  the  idea,  and  with  it  the  correspond- 
ing feeling.     The  discoveries  of  astronomy  stir  up  the 


162  ESTHETICS. 

emotion,  because  they  cany  the  mind  into  the  immeas- 
urable depths  of  space  while  yet  we  feel  that  we  are  not 
at  its  verge.  The  discoveries  of  geology  exalt  the  mind 
in  much  the  same  way,  by  the  long  vistas  opened  of  ages 
of  which  we  cannot  detect  the  beginning.  Every  vast 
display  of  power  calls  forth  the  overawing  sentiment;  we 
notice  agencies  which  are  great,  arguing  a  power  which 
is  greater.  It  is  thus  that  we  are  moved  by  the  howl  of 
the  tempest  and  the  raging  of  the  sea,  both,  it  may  be, 
producing  terrible  havoc,  in  the  prostration  of  the  trees 
of  the  forest  or  in  the  wreck  of  vessels.  The  roar  of  the 
water-fall,  the  musical  crash  of  the  avalanche,  the  mut- 
tering and  the  prolonged  growl  of  the  thunder,  the  sudden 
shaking  of  the  stable  ground  when  the  earth  quakes,  all 
these  fill  our  minds,  in  our  endeavor  to  realize  them,  and 
raise  apprehension  of  unknown  effects  to  follow.  The 
forked  lightning  raises  the  thought  of  a  bolt  shot  by  an 
almighty  hand.  Thick  masses  of  cloud  or  of  darkness 
may  become  sublime  by  suggesting  depths  which  we 
cannot  sound.  The  vault  of  heaven  is  alwaj^s  a  grand 
object  when  serene ;  as  we  look  into  it  we  feel  that  we 
are  looking  into  the  boundless.  A  clear,  bright  space  in 
the  sky,  whether  in  a  natural  scene  or  in  a  painting,  is 
an  outlet,  by  which  the  mind  may  go  out  into  the  limit- 
less. We  are  exhilarated  by  the  streaks  of  light  in  the 
morning  sky,  partly,  no  doubt,  from  the  associated  hope 
of  the  coming  day,  but  still  more  because  of  the  suggested 
region  beyond,  from  which  the  luminary  of  day  comes. 
I  explain  in  much  the  same  way  the  feeling  of  grandeur 
awakened  by  the  sun  setting  in  splendor  in  the  evening 
sky,  our  souls  go  after  him  into  the  region  to  which  he 
is  going.  In  much  the  same  way  there  is  always  a  pro- 
found feeling  of  awe  associated  with  the  serious  contem- 
plation of  the  death  of  a  fellow  man ;  it  is,  if  we  view 


THE   SUBLIME.  163 

it  aright,  the  departure  of  a  soul  into  an  unending  eter- 
nity. 

There  are  still  grander  scenes  presented  in  the  moral 
world,  raising  the  feeling  of  sublimity,  because  reveal- 
ing an  immense  power  and  suggesting  an  immeasurable 
power.  We  are  affected  with  a  feeling  of  wonder  and 
awe  when  we  contemplate  Abraham  lifting  tlie  knife  to 
slay  his  son,  and  the  old  Roman  delivering  his  son  to 
death  because  guilty  of  a  crime;  we  think  of,  and  yet 
cannot  estimate,  the  strong  moral  purpose  needed  to  over- 
come the  natural  affection  which  was  burning  all  the 
while  in  the  bosoms  of  the  fathers.  The  commander 
burning  his  ships  that  he  may  have  no  retreat,  tells  of  a 
will  and  a  purpose  which  cannot  be  conquered.  We  feel 
overawed,  and  yet  exalted,  when  we  read  of  the  Holland- 
ers being  ready  to  open  the  sluices  which  guard  their 
country  and  let  in  the  ocean  to  overflood  it,  and  of  the 
Russians  setting  fire  to  their  capital,  rather  than  have 
their  liberties  trampled  on.  Who  can  read  the  account 
in  Plato's  "Phfedo"  of  the  death  of  Socrates  without  say- 
ing, How  grand,  how  sublime  !  and  we  do  so  because  we 
would  estimate,  and  yet  cannot  estimate,  the  grand  pur- 
pose which  enabled  him  to  retain  such  composure  amidst 
scenes  so  much  fitted  to  agitate  and  to  overwhelm.  His- 
tory discloses  a  yet  more  sublime  scene  in  Jesus,  patient 
and  benignant  under  the  fearful  and  mysterious  load  laid 
upon  Him.  "Socrates  died  as  a  hero,  but  Jesus  Christ 
died  as  a  God." 

But  there  is  a  second  element  in  infinity.  It  is  such 
that  nothing  can  be  added  to  it,  and  nothing  taken  from 
it ;  in  other  words,  incapable  of  augmentation  or  diminu- 
tion. Under  this  aspect  it  is  the  Perfect.  As  an  exam- 
ple we  have  "  the  law  of  the  Lord,  which  is  perfect." 
Kant's   language  has  often  been  quoted,  as  to  the  two 


164  ESTHETICS. 

things  which  impressed  hira  with  sublimity,  the  starry 
heavens  and  the  hiw  of  God.  If  Kant  had  ever  seen  the 
ocean  he  would  have  added  it  to  the  others,  because  of 
its  extending  beyond  our  vision.  But  neither  the  starry 
heavens  nor  the  expanded  ocean  present  both  aspects  of 
infinit}'-,  which  are  combined  in  only  one  object,  and  that 
is  God,  all  whose  attributes  are  perfections,  which  as  we 
attempt  to  compass  them  we  are  lost,  because  of  the  in- 
finitude of  Him  who  is  "high  throned  above  all  height." 

SECTION  XI. 

BEAUTY  IN  NATURAL  OBJECTS. 

Every  object  in  nature,  every  man  and  woman,  every 
scene,  bare  sand  or  stagnant  marsh,  is  not  to  be  re- 
garded as  beautiful.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  the  common- 
place that  interesting  objects  come  forth  to  please  us, 
here  and  there,  and  everywhere.  Let  us  look  at  those 
natural  scenes  which  are  entitled  to  be  regarded  as  beau- 
tiful, picturesque,  or  sublime. 

In  the  grassy  slope,  in  the  rich  plain  waving  with 
grain,  there  is  first  a  pleasant  sensation  and  then  the  idea 
is  raised  of  plen.ty,  of  fertility,  and  of  the  comfort  of  liv- 
ing beings  ;  and  we  are  inclined  to  stand  still,  or  sit  down, 
and  contemplate  it,  allowing  the  thoughts  to  flow  on 
complacently.  In  river  scenery  the  flowing  of  the  stream, 
the  sheen  and  sparkling  of  the  waters,  give  the  idea  of 
action  and  of  life.  The  picture  may  be  greatly  enlivened 
by  the  pellucidness  of  the  water,  by  the  purling  and  leap- 
ing of  the  streams,  as  in  the  hill  country  of  Scotland  and 
New  England,  or  by  retired  bays  and  wooded  islets  in  the 
great  American  rivers.  In  the  broad  stream  or  ocean 
bay,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  St.  Lawrence,  there  is  often 
a  great  beauty  in  the  flitting  lights  and  shadows,  in  the 


BEAUTY  IN  NATURAL  OBJECTS.  165 

beams  lying  visibly  on  the  waters,  and  in  the  varying  col- 
ors, silvern  and  golden,  of  the  surface,  and  the  whole  ren- 
dered more  picturesque  by  the  white  sail  moving  across 
it.  The  sky,  when  cleai",  and  of  its  own  blue  color,  is 
always  lovely  ;  it  is  a  sheltering  canopy  over  us.  The 
clouds  hang  over  our  world  like  drapery,  and  interest  us 
by  their  levity,  by  their  movableness,  by  their  varied 
shapes  or  colors,  often  splendidly  in  harmony,  as  dividing 
the  beam  between  them.  These  same  clouds  may  awe 
us  as  in  thick  masses  they  forebode  tempests,  crashing 
and  destructive.  As  the  sun  sets  there  is  often  a  pleasant 
glow,  and  the  scene  is  associated  in  our  minds  with  rest  af- 
ter labor,  repose  after  a  journey,  and  his  retinue  of  clouds, 
so  richly  dressed,  raises  the  thought  of  splendor  and  mag- 
nificence, and  our  soul  goes  after  him  when  he  sinks,  as 
it  goes  after  the  dying  Christian  into  the  better  world. 
In  the  quiet  valley,  especially  when,  as  in  Switzerland, 
it  is  defended  by  lofty  mountains,  the  feeling  is  of  rest, 
protection,  security  from  danger,  peace  without,  emblem 
of  peace  within.  The  bold,  hard  rock  which  has  with- 
stood the  elements  for  a  thousand  years,  and  is  as  defiant 
as  ever,  is  associated  with  endurance  and  power  of  re- 
sistance, like  the  man  of  strong  moral  purpose  who  has 
withstood  the  winds  and  waves  of  temptation  and  the  at- 
tacks of  foes.  The  scars  upon  its  face,  like  tliose  of  the 
warrior  received  in  battle,  the  water-worn  channels,  the 
torn  detritus  at  its  base,  all  go  to  raise  the  idea  and  deepen 
the  feeling.  The  twisted  structure  shows  what  torture  it 
has  come  through,  and  yet  been  preserved.  The  ravine 
is  the  evident  result  of  somei  terrible  disruption  of  nature, 
and  looks  like  a  mysteri(His  hiding-place  provided  for  a 
refuge.  The  precipice  gives  the  idea  of  height  unap- 
proachable and  the  danger  in  falling  into  the  depthbelow, 
from  vrhich,  however,  we  are  safe  because  of  our  position; 


166  ESTHETICS. 

if  we  are  not,  the  sublimity  vanishes  in  the  sense  of  fear. 
An  inspiring  interest  is  often  awakened  by  the  way  being 
seemingly  shut  in  by  forbidding  heights,  which,  however, 
open  as  we  advance,  and  exciting  our  curiosity  as  to 
■what  is  to  be  disclosed. 

Beauty  of  Trees.  A  boy  gets  hold  of  a  fir  cone ;  he 
reckons  it  a  prize  and  feels  a  pleasure  in  contemplating 
it.  He  cannot  tell  how  it  should  interest  him,  but  the 
scientific  man  should  be  able  to  say.  He  handles  it  and 
turns  it  round  and  round,  and  preserves  it  among  his  toys, 
and  brings  it  out  from  time  to  time  to  gaze  on  it.  The 
scientific  observer  may  easily  notice  that  around  its  sur- 
face are  two  sets  of  spiral  whoi'ls,  one  going  to  the  right 
and  the  other  to  the  left,  each  to  carry  the  eye  round  the 
cone,  and  that  they  cross  each  other  and  produce  regular 
rhomboidal  figures,  which  differ  in  each  species  of  plant. 
The  boy  does  not  observe  all  this,  but  he  is  impressed 
with  the  general  regularity,  and  with  the  special  forms, 
with  the  unity  and  variety,  and  with  the  proportions  and 
harmony,  and  an  incipient  pesthetic  feeling  is  started. 

The  order  seen  so  easily  and  clearly  in  the  fir  cone 
also  appeal's,  though  less  obviously  and  with  greater  com- 
plexity, on  the  tree,  and  is  meant  to  be  noticed  by  full- 
grown  boj'^s.  Every  fir-tree,  indeed  every  coniferous 
plant,  tends  to  take  a  definite  form,  and  that  form  is  the 
same  as  that  of  its  cone,  that  is,  conical,  with  the  branches 
lengthening  till  they  produce  a  graceful  swell  and  then 
shortening  till  they  come  to  a  point.  The  carefully  ob- 
servant eye  will  notice  that  the  leaves  go  round  the  stem 
and  the  branches  round  the  trunk,  as  the  scales  do  round 
the  cones,  in  two  sets  of  spirals  crossing  each  other.  But 
in  order  to  our  being  impressed  with  the  beauty  of  the 
tree  it  is  not  necessary  to  notice  all  this  scientifically,  it 
is  enough  that  we  have  a  general  perception  of  the  bar- 
mony. 


BEAUTY   IN  NATURAL   OBJECTS.  167 

Coming  now  to  the  leafy  trees,  we  will  at  once  notice 
that  every  tree  bears  a  leaf  after  its  kind  ;  and  yon  can- 
not by  any  artifice  m;ike  any  tree  bear  a  leaf  of  a  differ- 
ent kind,  —  make  an  elm  bear  the  leaf  of  an  oak.  All 
these  have  a  beauty  of  some  kind,  a  graceful  curvature  of 
outline,  and  a  correspondence  of  side  to  side,  even  when 
the  two  sides  are  not  alike,  there  being  a  counterpoise  to 
the  inequality.  Then  it  can  be  shown  that  every  tree  is 
apt,  if  not  interfered  with,  to  take  the  form  of  its  leaf. 
Thus  some  leaves  have  leaf  stalks  shorter  or  longer  while 
others  have  none  ;  and  it  will  be  found  that  the  trees  on 
which  the  first  class  grow  have  an  unbranched  trunk 
shorter  or  longer,  whereas  the  others  have  none,  but  are 
bushy  from  the  base.  It  can  be  shown  that  the  angle  at 
which  tlie  branches  go  of?  from  the  stems  is  the  siime  as 
that  at  which  the  veins  go  off  from  the  leaf,  and  that  the 
curvilinear  outline  of  the  tree  and  of  every  branch  is  much 
the  same  as  that  of  the  leaf.  I  mention  these  things  to 
show  that  tliere  is  an  observable  order  in  the  shape  and 
structure  of  every  tree,  in  the  arrangement  of  its  branches 
and  its  contour,  which  at  once  impresses  the  observer, 
and  calls  forth  an  impression  which  deserves  to  be  called 
Eesthetic.  A  normally  formed  tree  in  winter  covered  with 
frostwork,  and  with  the  outline  fully  exposed,  is  felt  by 
all  to  be  a  beautiful  object. 

^fountains.  These,  as  we  look  up  to  them,  elevate  the 
mind  as  well  as  the  eye.  Some  cannot  gaze  on  a  moun- 
tain top  without  an  almost  irrepressible  ambition  to  as- 
cend it.  As  we  mount  we  are  ever  turning  round  to 
get  glimpses  of  tlie  scene  below,  and  when  we  reacli  the 
summit  we  do  not  care  to  repress  the  inclination  to  shout. 
How  interesting  now  to  look  round  and  behold  the  broth- 
erhood of  mountains  and  the  multitudinous  hills,  each 
standing  boldly  in  its  place  and  eager  to  show  its  special 


168  iESTHETICS. 

sliape  and  maintain  its  position  !  "We  are  awed  as  we 
look  down  the  precipices,  and  yet  we  feel  all  the  while 
how  stable  these  rocks  on  which  we  stand  are,  and  how 
deep  their  foundations.  We  peer  into  the  crevices  won- 
di'ving  what  is  concealed  in  them,  and  penetrate  the  ra- 
vines not  knowing  what  we  may  meet  with.  We  follow 
the  windings  of  the  valleys  as  they  sweep  down,  each 
one  gathering  a  stream  to  form  a  river.  How  pleasant 
to  notice  the  plains  below,  and  the  scattered  dwellings, 
evidently  witli  living  men  and  women  within  them.  The 
dwellers  in  mountain  regions  have  a  more  vivid  remem- 
brance of  tlieir  country  than  those  who  have  been  brought 
up  in  commonplace  plains,  think  of  it  more  frequently, 
and  have  a  greater  desire  to  return  to  it.  The  shepherds, 
such  as  those  of  ancient  Judea  and  of  Scotland,  are  often 
addicted  to  reflection.  The  hunters  have  a  spirit  of  en- 
terprise called  forth  by  their  employments.  Mountain 
tops  are  felt  to  be  places  for  adoration  :  God's  law  is  fitly 
proclaimed  there,  and  He  comes  down  there  to  meet  with 
the  worshipers. 

Water-falls.  If  you  visit  a  water-fall  do  it  leisurely 
that  nssociiition  of  ideas  may  have  full  play.  It  is  usu- 
all}'  in  a  bmken,  wild  scene,  and  we  may  let  our  thoughts 
run  wild,  as  a  boy  let  loose  on  a  holiday  excursion.  We 
hear  the  roar  of  the  falling  water :  let  it  guide  us.  The 
first  view  of  the  scene  gives  us  the  idea  of  a  mysterious 
convulsion  which  has  taken  place,  we  know  not  how  or 
when,  but  of  which  we  see  the  effects  indicating  vast 
power.  Let  us  approach  the  cataract  from  below  that 
it  may  overawe  us.  But  in  surveying  it  minutely  let  us 
go  at  once  to  where  it  is  rushing  on  to  its  destination, 
and  let  us  observe  it  taking  the  leap  so  determinedly  — 
as  if  it  must  take  it,  as  if  it  took  it  with  a  purpose,  and 
mark   that  as  it  does  so  it  glories  in  its  courage   and 


BEAUTY  IN  NATURAL   OBJECTS.  169 

strength.  We  may  then  survey  it  from  beneath.  We 
see  thiit  it  thrashes  on  the  rock  with  a  power  which  we 
cannot  resist,  and  vainly  try  to  estimate.  Having  per- 
formed its  feat  }  oil  observe  how  it  cahns  itself  in  the  pool 
it  has  formed,  and  then  glides  away  so  peacefully.  You 
now  look  up  and  artnind.  The  scene  is  horrific,  but  it  is 
relieved  by  scenes  of  beauty,  by  the  spray  sparkling  in 
the  sunshine,  or  gilded  by  the  rainbow  colors,  and  by 
these  flowers  and  ferns  getting  nourishment  in  the  crev- 
ices and  furnishing  drapery  of  exquisite  beauty.  We  may 
now  sit  down,  and  we  feel  secure  as  we  see  the  whole 
guarded  by  these  turreted  towers  evidently  set  as  battle- 
ments to  defend  it,  and  we  allow  our  thoughts  to  run  on, 
and  as  they  do  so  fill  the  mind  with  ideas  of  power  and 
feelings  of  wonder. 

The  Ocean  as  seen  from  the  shore  is  characterized  by 
restlessness;  "  it  cannot  rest."  It  is  in  perpetual  motion, 
and  casts  forth  as  wrecks  the  objects  that  have  intruded 
into  its  domain.  As  we  sail  upon  it  we  are  impressed 
with  its  immensity.  At  times  it  is  the  very  image  of  rest 
and  placidity.  Yet  we  feel  that  it  may  awake  at  any 
time  from  its  slumbers  and  raise  its  mountain  waves  to 
overwhelm,  and  show  its  yawning  gulfs  to  swallow  us. 
It  has  its  beauties  in  the  dark  hue  of  its  deep,  and  the 
cerulean  of  its  shallow  waters,  in  its  crested  foam  and  its 
spray.  It  lias  an  infinite  variety  in  its  moods  and  in  its 
expressions,  as  now  it  plays  and  smiles  and  laughs,  and 
again  is  dark  and  sullen,  angry  and  chafing.  We  are 
constrained  to  look  upon  it  with  a  feeling  of  awe.  The 
ideas  it  raises  are  of  boundlessness  and  irresistible  power, 
rousing  the  feeling  of  the  sublime  from  the  lowest  depth 
of  our  nature. 

The  Human  Frame.  The  highest  style  of  beauty  is  to 
be  found  in  man  and  woman.     A  beauty  may  be  dis- 


170  ESTHETICS. 

cerned  in  the  forms  of  the  human  body,  in  its  symmetry, 
its  proportions,  in  its  angles,  and  in  its  curves.  Tliere 
are  tints  and  hues  which  are  felt  to  be  pleasant  by  the 
optic  organism.  But  these  are,  after  all,  the  lowest  ele- 
ments in  the  beauty  of  the  human  frame.  Thei-e  may 
be  a  grace  in  the  attitude  assumed,  in  the  walk,  and  in 
the  manner.  But  the  highest  aesthetic  power  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Expression.  This  may  be  seen  in  the  mo- 
tion and  action,  as  showing  activity,  life,  and  strength. 
But  it  is  displayed  most  fully  in  the  countenance,  as  in- 
dicating mind  or  disposition,  as  indicating  force  or  reso- 
lution, or  refinement,  or  intelligence,  or  fire,  or  spirit,  or 
gentleness  and  love.  We  gaze  on  certain  countenances 
with  delight,  and  feel  as  if  we  could  gaze  on  them  for- 
ever. The  beauty  appreciated  will  depend  on  the  men- 
tal association  of  the  race,  the  country,  or  the  individual. 
The  beauty  of  the  Negro  or  the  Indian  will  not  be  re- 
garded so  favoi'ably  by  the  white  man.  There  is  truth 
in  the  idea  of  Sir  Charles  Bell,  that  the  typical  form  of 
a  race  is  the  model  beauty  in  the  estimation  of  that  race. 
In  all  cases  the  emotion  is  made  more  intense  when  the 
tender  passion  suffuses  through  the  whole.  In  many 
cases  there  may  be  no  inward  disposition  corresponding 
to  the  outward  signs  as  we  have  interpreted  them.  "Fair 
but  false"  has  been  the  complaint  of  lovers  in  all  ages. 
Still  we  cannot  thereby  be  rid  of  the  association  even 
though  we  know  on  reflection  that  there  is  no  moral 
quality  ;  we  still  look  with  admiring  interest  on  that 
countenance  which  is  so  full  of  mirth,  joyousness,  quick- 
ness, love,  (ir  tenderness. 


THE  FINE  ARTS.  171 


SECTION   XII. 

THE    FINE    ARTS. 

Music  lias  been  already  treated  of. 

Architecture.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  may 
be  some  mathematical  law  of  the  vibrations  producing  an 
organic  impression  which  rouses  the  intellect  to  notice  in 
a  vague  way,  in  the  first  instance,  and  afterwards  in  a 
more  precise  way,  the  proportions  of  the  building  which 
are  seen  to  indicate  skill,  design,  purpose.  The  atten- 
tion being  called  and  intelligence  awakened,  a  series  and 
succession  of  proportions  and  adaptations  and  uses  are 
discovered,  calling  forth  appropriate  feelings,  and  it  may 
be  accompanying  associations,  carried  on  as  long  as  the 
building  is  under  the  view.  As  a  negative  condition  it 
is  necessary  that  there  should  not  be  presented  in  any 
part  uselessness  —  which  is  folly,  disproportion,  unsym- 
metrical  sides,  unbalanced  appendages,  heavy  parts  un- 
sustained,  bulky  columns  which  support  nothing,  weak 
foundations,  overwhelming  crushing  roofs ;  for  these 
would  disturb  the  proper  flow  of  the  ideas  and  feelings. 
But  then  it  is  necessary  that  there  should  be  positive  ex- 
cellences in  skillful  arrangements,  and  in  ideas  expressed 
in  stone,  elevating  the  mind  to  high  contemplation.  The 
elements  of  strength,  massiveness,  resistance,  endurance, 
stability,  may  all  have  their  place  fittingly  in  architec- 
ture, by  raising  deep  ideas,  as  may  also  shade  and  retreat 
and  protection.  But  in  other  buildings  we  are  more  pleased 
to  see  lightness,  airiness,  pointedness,  heavenwardness. 
Of  a  still  higher  order  are  those  buildings  which  show 
us  curves  of  great  sweep,  and  go  out  as  it  were  into  in- 
finity. In  Grecian  architecture  the  idea  is  solidity,  shel- 
ter, covering,  cool  shade,  with  elegant  proportions  on 


172  ESTHETICS. 

which  we  fondly  gaze.  In  the  Gothic  cathedral  it  is 
sweep,  avenues,  like  those  of  trees,  towei'ing  sky-ward 
and  with  heavenly  tendency.  In  the  old  English  archi- 
tecture it  is  home,  peace,  comfort,  with  life  and  variety 
and  affection. 

Sculpture.  The  essential  idea  is  form  and  expression, 
of  the  man  or  woman  if  it  be  a  copy,  or  of  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  the  personage  represented  if  the  figure 
be  ideal,  whether  of  contentment,  placidity,  curiosity, 
anxiety,  of  hope,  joy,  or  love,  or  may  be  determination, 
eagerness,  courage,  ambition,  jealousy,  hatred,  and  re- 
venge. These  must  be  marked  by  the  posture  of  the 
body,  or  they  must  beam  or  flash  or  scowl  from  the  ex- 
pression of  the  countenance.  When  there  is  a  group, 
there  must  be  a  unity  in  the  variety,  a  central  form  to 
which  all  eyes  turn  with  approbation  or  disapprobation, 
with  a  common  sentiment,  but  with  diversities  of  charac- 
ter and  aims. 

Landscape  Gardening.  We  now  hate  to  see  trees 
clipped  into  the  forms  of  beasts  or  birds  or  any  other 
artificial  shape ;  we  shrink  from  rectilinear  Dutch  walks 
hemmed  in  by  hedges,  we  doubt  even  of  Italian  statues 
of  mythological  persons,  as  somehow  not  in  their  proper 
place  (at  least  when  winter  comes  they  should  be  shel- 
tered in  a  building)  ;  and  we  love  to  have  curves  and 
sweeps,  and  paths  that  may  ever  lead  into  something 
new,  and  glimpses  of  distant  objects,  and  vistas  that 
seem  to  have  no  end.  There  should  be  trees  of  various 
kinds  and  shapes,  planted  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
each  other,  and  each  showing  its  separate  form  and  char- 
acter. There  should  also  be  clumps  of  trees  for  shelter, 
and  to  show  their  leafage.  In  flower  gardening  we  strive 
to  have  beds  of  varied  forms,  suggestive  of  fertility  and 
invention,  and  flowers  of  harmonious  colors  growing  along- 


THE   FINE   ARTS.  173 

side  of  each,  to  quicken  our  sensitive  power.  But  care 
must  be  taken  in  imitating  the  variety  of  nature  to  con- 
ceal the  imitation ;  here  as  in  poetry,  artis  est  celare  artem. 
In  many  modern  gardens  tliere  are  so  many  artifices  in 
ingenious  cut  beds,  and  meaningless  dells,  that  we  turn 
away  from  the  pretty  conceits  with  a  feeling  of  irrepres- 
sible contempt. 

Landscape  Painting.  Here,  the  first  thing  is  to  have 
a  verisimilitude  of  the  actual  or  possible  scene.  We  are 
offended  when  called  to  look  on  a  sky  which,  though 
beautiful  in  itself,  is  unlike  anything  we  have  seen  in 
nature.  But  the  painting  will  not  fulfill  the  highest  ends 
unless  it  goes  farther  than  mere  imitation,  and  raises 
within  us  the  same  feelings  as  the  landscape  itself  would 
do,  whether  of  peace  or  power  or  grandeur,  whether  it 
be  of  plain  or  valley  or  river  or  ocean,  of  hopeful  spring, 
of  rich  summer,  of  plenteous  autumn,  or  stern  winter. 
The  grand  aim  of  the  artist  should  be,  not  so  much  to 
make  aii  exact  picture  as  to  raise  the  very  sentiments 
"we  should  experience,  were  we  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
scene,  say  a  desert  in  Arabia  or  Sahara,  or  a  gorge  in 
the  Sierra  Nevadas  or  Himalayas. 

Historical  Painting.  Here,  faithfulness  to  time,  place, 
and  person  is  essential  to  gain  our  confidence  ;  and  the 
absence  of  it  causes  distrust  and  makes  our  nature  rebel. 
We  cannot,  and  should  not,  tolerate  a  modern  lady,  or  a 
Scotch  or  Swiss  girl,  made  to  appear  in  an  ancient  or 
cartoon  scene,  say  in  a  Bible  painting.  There  is  always 
a  special  zest  when  the  artist  is  in  thorough  sympathy 
with  those  whom  he  places  before  us,  as  we  feel  when 
gazing  on  the  homely  Scottish  scenes  of  Sir  David  Wilkie, 
and  which  we  do  not  feel  when  he  sought  to  give  us 
grander  scenes,  as  Knox  preaching  before  the  Lords  of 
the  Congregation.     But  the  grand  aim  of  the  painter  of 


174  ESTHETICS. 

character  should  be  to  give  us  expression,  true  to  nature 
in  the  first  instance,  but  also  portraying  the  thoughts, 
impulses,  and  passions  of  men  and  women.  He  should 
carry  those  who  view  the  painting  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  scenes  he  represents,  and  make  them  experience 
something  of  the  feelings  which  should  have  passed 
through  their  breasts  had  they  mingled  in  the  scenes, — 
they  all  the  while  knowing  that  this  is  a  representation, 
for  it  is  only  when  they  do  so  that  the  sentiment  of  admi- 
ration, and  other  aesthetic  feelings,  are  called  forth.  The 
painter  may  have  a  nobler  aspiration  ;  he  may  aim  at 
elevating  our  sentiments  by  the  exhibition  of  great  and 
noble  character  and  deeds,  and  in  doing  so  show  himself 
the  higher  artist.  There  is  a  genuine  portrayal  of  hu- 
man nature  in  the  paintings  of  low  life,  of  drinking  and 
sensuality  and  vulgar  humor,  by  the  Dutch  painters  ; 
but  surely  there  is  something  vastly  higher  shown  in 
the  pure  virgin,  the  noble  apostles,  and  the  holy  angels 
of  Raphael  and  the  great  Italian  painters.  Each  class  of 
paintings  raises  a  genuine  sesthetic  feeling ;  but  surely 
there  is  something  immeasurably  higher  in  the  latter 
than  in  the  former. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONTINUOUS    EMOTIONS. 
SECTION  I. 

AFFECTIONS    AND   PASSIONS. 

Down  to  this  point  we  Lave  been  looking  at  single  emo- 
tions. But  we  cannot  comprehend  oui-  nature  till  we 
view  the  feelings  operating  continuously  or  in  combina- 
tion. Tiie  continued  emotions  are  called  Affections  and 
Passions. 

In  these  first  and  farthest  down  there  is  an  appetence, 
native  or  acquired,  which  abides  and  ever  tends  to  act. 
This  is  of  the  nature  of  a  lake  with  rivers  flowing  into.it 
and  out  of  it.  How  many  streams  join  in  the  affection  of 
a  mother  for  her  child  or  the  passion  of  a  gambler  for 
play? 

In  the  combination  implied,  association  of  ideas, 
prompted  by  the  abiding  appetence,  always  plays  an  im- 
portant part,  and  collects  a  host  of  concomitants  and 
consequences.  When  a  man  is  in  a  passion,  what  a  flight 
of  thoughts,  like  that  of  wild  beasts  pursuing  their  prey, 
of  the  indignity  that  has  been  lieaped  upon  him,  of  the 
loss  he  has  sustained,  of  the  injustice  or  meanness  of  the 
one  who  has  perpetrated  all  this,  and  the  necessity  of  re- 
sisting or  resenting,  or  of  punishing  the  offender.  When 
we  learn  of  a  favorite  project  of  ours  being  successful, 
what  a  fluttering  like  that  of  doves  to  their  windows. 
What  a  quiver,  full  of  keen  instruments,  of  the  greed  of 
gain,  of  the  determination  not  to  be  beaten,  the  craving 


176  CONTINUOUS   EMOTIONS. 

for  excitement  to  drown  reflection,  in  the  power  that  is 
driving  on  the  man,  who  is  all  the  while  conscious  that 
he  is  doing  wrong,  to  the  gambling  table  with  the  hoards 
of  money  spread  out  upon  it,  and  his  competitors  ready 
for  the  contest. 

SECTION  n. 

EMOTIONS   COMING  UP   IN  GROUPS. 

I  have  already  noticed  the  fact  that  ideas  become  as- 
sociated in  clusters  (p.  52).  An  idea  may  have  become 
the  attracting  centre  of  a  whole  body  of  others,  each  of 
which  is  emotional.  When  that  idea  starts  up  the  whole 
train  comes  with  it.  We  often  wonder  to  find  some  one 
breaking  out  into  a  burst  of  passion  without  any  cause  or 
occasion  known  to  us.  But  if  we  were  acquainted  with 
the  man's  history  we  could  account  for  the  whole ;  the 
idea  hus  gathered  round  it  a  whole  body  of  feelings 
which  oome  in  with  it,  and  it  is  thus  ready  as  a  spark  to 
kindle  a  conflagration.  There  are  emotional  ideas  which 
raise  excitement  as  I'eadily  as  substances  covered  with 
pitch  take  fire.  We  have  had  an  unfortunate  collision 
with  a  man,  and  when  he  suddenly  comes  in  contact 
with  us  the  pent-up  feeling  bursts  out,  as  liquor  does 
from  a  vessel  when  it  is  tapped.  Or,  he  has  offended  us 
in  one  of  our  ruling  passions,  and  henceforth  when  we 
think  of  him  we  have  the  memory  of  his  acts  of  sup- 
posed ill-usage,  and  of  our  mortifications  and  disappoint- 
ments. A  disappointment  or  a  triumph,  a  loss  or  a  gain, 
a  reproach,  a  compliment,  a  success,  or  a  humiliation 
may  thus  have  become  glued  to  a  place,  or  an  event, 
which  will  introduce  its  concomitant,  it  may  be  inoppor- 
tunely, and  in  spite  of  our  efforts  to  prevent  it.  Some 
have  anniversaries  of  fortunes  or  misfortunes,  of  mar- 
riages or  of  deaths,  which  bring  with  them  crowded  feel- 


EMOTIONS   COMING   UP   IN   GROUPS.  177 

ings  sweet  as  clusters  of  grapes,  or  agitated  as  waves 
struggling  in  a  creek. 

We  are  all  liable  to  bursts  of  feeling,  such  as  that 
which  moves  the  breast  of  the  mother  as  she  comes  upon 
a  memorial  of  her  departed  son,  say  the  prize  won  by 
him  in  his  opening  youth  ere  he  was  taken  from  her,  or 
the  sword  which  he  wielded  so  bravely  in  the  battle  in 
which  he  was  slain.  Such  are  the  thoughts,  mirthful 
and  melancholy,  which  rise  up  and  chase  each  other  like 
a  flock  of  birds,  as  the  engrossed  man  visits  the  scenes  of 
childhood,  from  which  he  has  been  so  long  separated. 
Such  is  the  mountain  torrent  which  bursts  out  when  the 
sailor's  wife  is  told  that  she  is  a  widow.  There  is  the 
cataract,  when  a  prize  of  honor,  or  power,  or  wealth, 
long  looked  for,  goes  to  a  rival ;  or  when  the  merchant 
has  suffered  a  loss  which  he  knows  must  make  him  bank- 
rupt. Thus  are  we  liable  not  only  to  moments  of  feel- 
ing, but  to  moods,  continuing  for  longer  or  shorter  time, 
of  hope  or  of  fear,  of  joy  or  of  sorrow. 

Every  one  must  have  noticed  persons  who  have  been 
for  hours  in  a  state  of  cheerfulness  or  even  hilarity,  dis- 
posed to  be  pleased  with  everything,  suddenly  becoming 
silent,  or  morose,  or  cross-tempered,  or  contradictory, 
without  a  cause  being  discovered  by  a  neighbor,  or  by 
the  man  himself.  People  say  it  is  a  change  of  temper, 
and  so  it  is ;  but  we  must  look  deeper.  It  may  so  far 
proceed  from  a  stomachic  or  some  other  organic  derange- 
ment, but  there  is  a  deej^er  element.  It  proceeds  from 
the  intrusion  of  an  idea  with  a  gangrene  of  feelings,  and 
this  has  given  a  new  turn  to  the  flow  of  thought  which 
generates  a  mood  which  may  continue  for  hours. 


178  CONTINUOUS  EMOTIONS. 

SECTION  in. 

TEMPERAMENT. 

This  is  to  a  large  extent  organic,  and  implies  nervous 
action.  But  mental  action  mingles.  Many  great  men 
have  been  liable  to  fits  of  despondency,  to  moods  of 
melancholy.  Such  men  have  commonly  had  some  high 
or  deep  aim.  This  may  be  theoretical  or  it  may  be 
practical ;  it  may  be  benevolent  or  it  may  be  selfish ;  it 
may  contemplate  a  present  or  remote  good.  One  man 
would  build  np  a  large  fortune,  another  a  lasting  reputa- 
tion, another  would  climb  a  height  of  ambition,  f  One 
has  his  mind  filled  with  what  is  to  live  forever,  another 
expects  to  make  a  great  scientific  discovery,  a  third  is 
rearing  a  new  system  of  philosophy.  This  one  is  to  be 
a  merchant  who  will  trade  with  all  quarters  of  the  globe, 
this  other  is  to  be  a  great  lawyer  and  sit  on  the  bench  of 
the  supreme  court,  a  third  is  to  be  a  great  statesman  and 
determine  the  destinies  of  a  country,  that  fourth  is  to  be 
a  brilliant  orator  to  sway  masses  of  men,  and  the  fifth  a 
gallant  soldier  and  a  mighty  conqueror.  But  then  things 
in  this  world  do  not  ahvays  fall  out  according  to  the 
wishes  and  expectations  even  of  the  most  far-sighted. 
Accidents  will  occur  to  stop  them,  and  opposition  will 
come  from  quarters  from  which  aid  was  expected.  Under 
such  circumstances  weak  minds  will  be  apt  to  give  up 
the  effort.  Stronger  spirits  will  persevere.  But  as  they 
do  so  they  may  have  their  prostrations,  occasional  or 
periodical.  Mohammed  will  have  his  fits  and  retire  into 
a  cave,  not  to  abandon  the  project  but  to  brood  over  it. 
In  such  a  position  the  eager  man  feels  like  the  eagle  in 
its  cage;  like  the  prisoner  in  the  dungeon  beating  upon 
the  walls  that  restrain  him,  and  anxious  to  break  them. 


TEMPERAMENT.  179 

Aristotle  has  remarked  that  men  of  genius  are  often  of 
a  niehmcholy  temperament.  We  can  understand  this. 
They  do  not  find  their  high  ideal  realised  in  the  world, 
and  they  retire  within  themselves,  or  retreat  to  some 
shade, 

"  Whose  melancholy  gloom  accords  with  their  soul's  sadness." 

In  some  eases  of  this  description  the  cloud  comes  down 
lower  and  lower  upon  the  mountain,  and  at  last  wraps 
the  whole  soul  in  thickest  mist  or  dismal  gloom.  But 
when  there  is  buoyancy,  the  man  comes  foi'th  from  his 
retreat  to  some  great  work,  as  David  did  from  the  cave 
of  Adullam,  as  Luther  did  after  his  depression  the  night 
before  he  had  to  face  the  great  emperor  and  the  Diet  of 
Worms.  As  one  of  the  incongruities,  but  not  contradic- 
tions, of  human  character,  it  often  happens  that  the  man 
under  gloom  is  liable  in  the  reaction  to  fits  of  merriment, 
which  come  out  from  him  like  electric  sparks,  to  give  a 
grim  light  in  the  darkness.  It  was  thus  that  John  Knox, 
that  Oliver  Cromwell,  that  Abraham  Lincoln  had  their 
outbursts  of  levity  in  the  midst  of  their  habitual  serious- 
ness. 

From  much  the  same  causes  we  find  at  times  our  de- 
pressed and  melancholy  men  to  be  very  kind,  sympa- 
thetic, and  benevolent.  They  may  wear  a  downcast 
look,  they  may  dwell  in  a  gloomy  atmosphere,  they  may 
rather  repel  the  young  and  frighten  the  frivolous,  but 
underneath  the  encrusting  ice  is  a  flowing  stream  which 
cannot  be  frozen.  Their  benevolence  has  so  often  been 
received  with  ingratitude,  their  attempts  to  do  good  have 
so  often  failed,  that  their  look  has  become  somewhat  for- 
bidding, but  beyond  and  within  there  is  a  loving  and 
generous  heart. 


180  CONTINUOUS  EMOTIONS. 


SECTION  IV. 


Our  key  opens  other  secrets  of  character.  We  can  ex- 
plain what  is  meant  by  temper.  This  may  arise  in  part 
from  bodily  irritation,  from  a  disordered  alimentary  canal 
or  stomach.  A  diseased  organism  is  sure  to  have  seeds 
in  it  which  breed  ephemera.  The  attacks  may  individu- 
ally be  exceedingly  small,  but,  like  those  of  the  gnat, 
may  be  exceedingly  uncomfortable.  The  person  may  be 
under  its  influence  without  knowing  it.  Incipient  dis- 
ease in  children  is  often  detected  by  a  restlessness  of 
temper.  The  mother  knows  that  her  boy  needs  the  visit 
of  a  doctor  when  he  is  fretful,  and  relief  comes,  and  the 
spirit  rises,  when  the  irritating  cause  is  removed.  It  is 
the  same  all  our  lives.  The  dyspeptic  feels  depressed 
and  easily  disturbed  ;  the  woman  of  bilious  temperament 
and  liable  to  nervous  headaches  is  restless,  and  yet  indis- 
posed to  action,  and  is  apt  to  get  angry  when  compelled 
to  make  exertion.  Much  of  commonplace  human  happi- 
ness springs  from  the  vital  oi'gans  acting  healthily,  and 
encouraging  a  pleasant  flow  of  spirits  ;  and  much  of  our 
wretchedness  from  the  same  oi-gans,  interrupted  in  their 
natural  action.  The  uneasiness  is  partly  pathological, 
but  is  greatly  intensified  by  the  interference  with  the 
pleasant  flow  of  association.  Your  disagreeable,  unpop- 
ular people  are  often  those  who  have  annoyances  in  their 
own  frame,  which  make  them  as  disagreeable  to  them- 
selves as  they  are  to  others. 

Temper  springs  fundamentally  from  disappointed  ap- 
petences. It  is  most  apt  to  be  displayed  by  those  who 
have  come  under  the  sway  of  a  great  many  small  attach- 
ments, ever  liable  to  be  ruffled ;   especially  when  they 


PREPOSSESSIONS.  181 

cling  round  near  objects,  round  their  children,  or  personal 

ease,  or  aggrandizement,  or  social  rank  and  status,  or 

dress,  or  furniture,  or  equipage,  all  liable  to  be  disturbed 

from  day  to  day,  or  from  hour  to  hour.     The  person  is 

prepared  to  sit  down  to  a  pleasant  meal,  or  enjoy  a  quiet 

hour  with  bis  family,  or  commit  himself  to  rest  at  night, 

when  an  unexpected  event  breaks  in  upon  him,  like  a 

burglar,  to  make  him  flee  or  fight.     Or  he  has  a  favorite 

opinion,  and  some  one  contradicts  him  ;  or  he  meets  with 

opposition  where  he  expected  assistance  ;  or  the  exertions 

he  makes  and  the  favors  he  bestows  are  received  with 

ingratitude,  and  the  man  is  put  into  a  state  of  irritation 

which  makes  him  disagreeable  to  himself  and  all  who 

come   in  contact  with   him.     The  temper  once  kindled 

will  be  apt  to  throw  out  sparks  towards  all  who  are  near, 

towards  children  and  servants  and  neighbors,  towards  all 

who  come  across  the  man,  though  they  may  have  had  no 

connection  with  the  original  disturbance. 

"  But  ever  after  the  small  violence  clone 
Rankled  in  him,  and  ruffled  all  his  heart 
As  the  sharp  wind  that  ruffles  all  day  long 
A  little  bitter  pool  about  a  stone 
On  the  bare  coast."  ^ 

Such  is  the  experience  when  the  appetences  are  nu- 
merous and  small.  The  character  is  weak  and  may  be- 
come contemptible.  The  energy  is  wasted  in  the  heat 
of  small  molecular  motion,  or  expresses  itself  in  spitting 
sparks. 

SECTION  V. 

PREPOSSESSIONS. 

A  strong  affection  creates  a  prepossession  in  favor  of 
whatever  promotes  it.  We  have  had  pleasure  in  the 
presence  of  certain  objects,  they  have  gratified  our  tastes 

1  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King. 


182  CONTINUOUS  EMOTIONS. 

and  fallen  in  with  our  predilections,  and  associations  gather 
around  them  ;  and  when  they  come  before  us  we  are  pr&- 
pai'ed  to  welcome  them,  and  at  all  times  we  think  and 
expect  favorably  of  them.  We  have  a  warm  heart  to- 
wards our  birthplace,  towards  the  scenes  in  which  we 
have  passed  our  younger  years,  and  towards  our  home. 
The  affectionate  husband  and  wife  will  delight  to  visit 
the  spot  in  which  they  spent  their  honeymoon.  We  are 
apt  to  delight  in  those  who  have  a  pleasant  countenance, 
a  genial  temper,  or  a  lively,  a  deferential,  or  a  flattering 
manner.  Some  have  a  preference  for  those  who  have  a 
frank  or  brusque  address,  or  who  are  candid  in  their 
opinions,  or  have  an  honest  way  of  expressing  themselves. 
Others  are  rather  drawn  to  those  who  are  affectionate 
and  tender  in  their  feelings.  All  delight  in  the  society 
of  those  for  whom  they  have  such  predilections,  do  not 
willingly  believe  evil  of  them,  and  are  inclined  to  copy 
them. 

The  father  and  mother  are  disposed  to  think  favorably 
of  the  character  of  their  sons  and  daughters,  do  not 
readily  listen  to  an  evil  report  of  them,  and  will  believe 
what  they  say  when  they  would  not  credit  the  same  tale 
told  by  a  stranger.  It  is  proverbial  that  love  has  a  blind- 
ing influence,  and  the  woman  under  its  power  trusts  the 
vows  of  her  lover  who  may  thereby  become  her  seducer. 
We  willingly  attend  to  the  arguments  urged  in  behalf  of 
causes  which  seem  to  promote  our  pleasures  or  flatter 
our  self-esteem.  He  is  likely  to  be  a  favorite  in  private 
and  in  public,  to  be  in  fact  the  popular  man  (more  so 
than  a  great  and  good  man,  who  may  rather  excite  envy, 
as  interfering  with  our  inordinate  self-esteem),  whose 
manner  and  style  of  address  are  such  that  those  whom 
he  meets  go  away  better  pleased  with  themselves.  It  is 
said  that  those  who  got  a  refusal  from  Charles  II.  of 


PREJUDICE.  183 

England  went  away  better  pleased  than  were  those  who 
had  their  requests  granted  by  his  father,  and  no  doubt 
this  helped  to  make  tlie  one  die  in  prosperity  while  the 
other  perished  on  a  scaffold.  The  flatterer  gains  his  end 
by  speaking  to  us  of  oiir  real  or  imagined  good  qualities ; 
but  it  may  happen  unfortunately,  or  rather  I  should  say 
fortunately,  that  we  come  to  discover  that  he  pays  the 
like  compliments  to  others,  and  we  turn  away  with  dis- 
gust as  from  one  who  has  been  trying  to  deceive  us. 
The  courtier  studies  the  weaknesses  of  those  whose  favor 
he  would  gain,  and  addresses  himself  to  them,  but  may 
find  that  tlie  caprices  of  the  pampered  man  of  power  be- 
come in  the  end  intolerable.  That  man  is  not  likely  to 
be  a  successful  agent  in  a  good  cause  who  sends  away 
those  whom  he  would  gain  in  a  humbled  and  repining 
humor.  The  ardent  man  stimulates  othei's  because  h^i 
imparts  to  them  some  of  the  magnetic  power  which  is  in 
himself.  There  is  sure  to  be  a  terrible  disappointment, 
and  perhaps  even  a  disposition  towards  i-evenge  and  re- 
taliation, when  those  whom  our  imaginations  have  clothed 
with  such  excellent  qualities,  or  whom  we  supposed  to  be 
our  friends,  are  seen  to  be  unworthy,  or  have  turned  out 
to  be  foes. 

SECTION  VI. 

PREJUDICE. 

It  presupposes  certain  tendencies,  convictions,  affec- 
tions, or  purposes  which  have  been  thwarted,  and  then 
all  that  is  associated  with  the  disappointments  raises 
malign  feelings  which  often  lead  to  unjustifiable  conduct. 
There  are  scenes  at  which  we  have  suffered  a  humilia- 
tion, or  experienced  a  sorrow,  and  we  ever  afterwards 
avoid  them.  Or  there  are  people  who  have  knowingly 
or  unknowingly,  justly  or  unjustly,  offended  us  ;   who 


184  CONTINUOUS   EMOTIONS. 

have  made  us  see  their  superiority  and  our  inferiority ; 
who  have  lowered  us  in  our  own  estimation ;  who  have 
wounded  us  in  a  tender  part ;  who  have  crossed  our  favor- 
ite ends;  who  have  injured  or  maligned  us,  or  beat  us  in 
the  rivalries  of  trade  or  the  competitions,  social  or  liter- 
ary, of  life  ;  and  henceforth  we  look  askance  upon  them, 
are  apt  to  feel  uncomfortable  in  their  presence,  and  to 
imagine  tbem  to  be  actuated  by  ugly  motives  towards 
us.  This  feeling  is  especially  apt  to  rise  in  the  breasts 
of  those  who  have  injured  any  one  in  his  good  name  or 
estate ;  they  fear  that  he  may  take  revenge  and  do  them 
mischief.  In  these  ways  prejudice  is  excited  against  not 
only  individuals,  but  classes,  against  trades,  professions, 
grades  of  society,  —  the  rich  fearing  the  poor,  and  the 
poor  envying  the  rich,  —  against  political  parties,  reli- 
gious sects,  against  races,  white  or  colored,  against  states 
and  nations  —  "  the  Jews  had  no  dealings  with  the  Sa- 
maritans." 

This  prejudice,  wrong  in  itself,  is  sure  to  lead  to  evil 
conduct.  These  antipathies  are  one  of  the  principal 
sources  of  quarrels,  feuds,  and  wars ;  men  clothe  their 
enemies  with  evil  qualities,  as  Nero  clothed  the  early 
Christians  with  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  or  covered  them 
with  pitch,  and  then  destroyed  them.  We  see  tlie  feeling 
working  in  more  common  cases.  We  do  not  listen  pa- 
tiently to  the  arguments  urged  by  those  who,  for  any 
cause,  say  by  their  misconduct  or  our  misapprehension 
of  it,  have  given  us  offense.  We  become  predisposed 
against  causes  which  have  injured  our  prospects.  The 
publican  is  not  likely  to  feel  an  interest  in  the  cause  of 
temperance,  nor  the  protectionist  in  free  ti-ade,  nor  the 
licentious  man  in  the  correction  of  vice,  nor  the  infidel  in 
the  defenses  of  religion,  nor  the  calumniator  in  the  re- 
cital of  the  excellent  deeds  of  one  whom  he  has  reviled. 


lie    SHf  '       •\ 

NIVEKSITY  )) 

FICKLENESS   OF   FEELINGS     v^^Jf^(2^_^1^5' 

Herod  readily  granted  the  request  of  the  damsel  who 
danced  before  him,  and  her  mother  prompted  her  to  ask 
the  head  of  John  the  Baptist,  who  had  audaciously  de- 
clared that  "  it  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  have  thy  brother's 
wife."  The  perverse  boy  comes  to  detest  the  faithful 
teacher  who  has  admonished  him  so  often.  Politicians 
are  apt  to  speak  against  the  party  which  hinders  them  in 
their  schemes  of  patriotic  or  personal  aggrandizement. 
Or,  what  is  to  be  explained  on  much  the  same  principles, 
they  turn  with  a  strong  revulsion  against  the  party 
which  they  have  long  favored,  but  which,  as  they  think, 
has  overlooked  them,  or  kept  them  down,  or  ill-used 
them.  We  can  thus  explain  the  mistaken  zeal,  often  the 
antipathies,  of  the  convert  or  pervert. 

SECTION   VII. 

FICKLENESS    OF   FEELING. 

Every  one  must  have  come  in  contact  with  people  who 
have  feelings  of  a  certain  kind  strong  and  lively,  but 
who  soon  lose  them  and  become  apathetic,  or  fall  under 
emotions  of  a  different,  perhaps  of  an  opposite  kind.  To- 
day they  seem  to  be  full  of  affection  for  us,  and  load  us 
with  expressions  of  regard ;  to-morrow  they  are  turned 
away  from  us,  and  meet  us  with  opposition  or  enmity, 
and  are  perhaps  lavishing  their  friendship  on  others,  for 
whom  they  had  no  regard  before.  There  are  people  of 
whom  tliis  cliamelcon  liability  to  change  of  affection  is 
characteristic.  They  will  be  found  to  be  persons  with 
no  very  decided  or  deep  motive  principle,  and  whose 
emotions  are  very  much  determined  by  outward  circum- 
stances. Commonly  they  are  swayed  by  a  number  of 
not  very  strong  appetences,  taking  the  direction  which 
external  events  working  on  an  irrepressible  nervous  tern- 


186  CONTINUOUS   EMOTIONS. 

perament  give  them.  At  this  present  time  they  are 
deeply  interested  in  some  person  or  end,  great  or  small; 
but  the  seed  is  sown  in  stony  places,  and,  having  no  depth 
of  earth,  it  speedily  withers  away.  New  circumstances 
appear,  unexpected  difficulties  spring  up,  as  they  prose- 
cute the  cause  ;  or  the  person  beloved  gives  offense,  and 
the  interest  is  ready  to  collect  round  some  other  objects. 
Such  people  appear  very  inconsistent,  and  so  they  are, 
and  they  do  not  gain  our  permanent  confidence  ;  but  they 
are,  after  all,  acting  consistently  with  their  character, 
which  goes  by  impulses  and  jerks,  and  not  by  steady 
principle. 

SECTION  VIII. 

RULING   PASSIONS. 

The  young  are  apt  to  live  under  the  influence  of  a  con- 
siderable number  of  lighter  impulses,  moving  the  spirit 
as  the  ocean  is  rippled  into  wavelets  by  zephyrs.  Now  it 
is  affection  to  father,  mother,  sister,  brother,  companion ; 
now  it  is  some  sense  of  duty ;  now  it  is  a  desire  to  win 
esteem  and  to  dazzle;  now  it  is  a  sheer  love  of  activity 
and  excitement,  as  in  play,  in  leaping,  and  dancing.  As 
they  advance  in  years  they  become  soberer,  partly  from 
the  less  lively  flow  of  the  animal  spirits,  but  mainly  from 
the  streams  being  collected  into  a  few  formed  and  vsettled 
channels.  The  fountains  and  streamlets  that  originally 
start  and  feed  our  streams  are  beyond  calculation  in 
number,  but  as  they  flow  they  meet,  and  unite  in  great 
rivers.  So  the  numberless  impulses  of  youth  settle  into 
a  few  habitual  modes  of  action.  In  middle  age,  the 
earning  of  one's  bread,  the  cares  of  a  household,  the 
business  of  life,  the  common  services  and  civilities  due  to 
neighbors  and  friends  demand  and  engross  the  greater 
portion  of  the  motive  energy.     In   declining   life,    the 


RULING  PASSIONS.  187 

grave  man  and  woman  commonly  centre  their  regards 
on  a  few  ends  which  they  pursue,  having  seen  the  vanity 
of  many  of  those  which  captivated  them  in  their  younger 
years  —  though  some  of  those  which  tliey  cling  to  may 
turn  out  to  be  as  unsatisfactory  as  those  which  they  have 
abandoned. 

Youth  might  be  painted  as  with  the  question  ever  in 
their  mouths,  "  Who  will  show  us  any  good  ?  "  and  you 
see  them  running  to  every  spot  where  others  are  collected, 
and  gathering  round  every  lire  of  crackling  wood  that  is 
kindled.  But  there  are  many  exceptions  to  this  general 
account.  There  are  boys  and  girls  who  have  sobriety  in 
their  character  and  manner  from  the  beginning,  either 
because  they  are  governed  by  some  serious  principle  or 
principles,  or  because  they  have  no  very  strong  passions. 
They  are  your  boys  with  aged  faces,  which  recommend 
them  to  grave  seniors  but  keep  them  from  being  popular 
with  their  coevals,  who  prefer  the  lively,  the  gay,  and 
the  roystering.  In  like  manner  there  are  old  men  and 
women  who  retain  their  interest  in  occupations  which 
enable  them  to  retain  their  youthful  character,  and  bring 
them  into  sympathy  with  children. 

There  are  cases  in  which  one  passion  is  strong,  or  a 
few  passions  are  strong,  in  themselves  or  relatively  to 
others,  and  they  claim  and  gain  a  governing  potency, 
and  reign  without  a  rival,  or  with  a  rival  which  they 
keep  down.  It  is  the  devotion  of  a  boy  to  his  play ;  or 
of  a  girl  to  her  father  —  it  may  be  in  povert}^  or  in 
wretched  health  ;  or  of  a  mother  to  her  son  —  it  may  be 
helplessly  invalid,  or  deformed  ;  or  of  the  merchant  to 
his  business,  or  of  a  farmer  to  his  land,  or  of  a  physician 
to  his  profession,  or  of  a  scientist  to  his  researches,  or  of  a 
philosopher  to  his  speculations,  or  of  the  painter,  sculp- 
tor, or  architect  to  his  art,  or  of  the  patriot  to  his  country. 


188  CONTINUOUS   EMOTIONS. 

or  of  the  politician  to  his  party,  or  of  the  successful  sol- 
dier to  military  aggrandizement,  or  of  the  ecclesiastic  to 
his  church,  or  of  the  Christian  to  the  glory  of  God.  The 
passion,  as  a  centre,  aggregates  a  crowd  of  associations, 
and  it  moves  on  like  a  marshaled  host,  with  the  com- 
bined strength  of  the  whole,  bearing  down  the  obstacles 
which  oppose.  Those  thus  impelled  are  often  distin- 
guished by  their  energy  —  for  good  or  for  evil,  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  affection.  Among  them  are  to  be 
found  your  strong  lovers  and  your  good  haters.  They 
often  accomplish  ends,  in  heaping  up  wealth,  in  doing 
brilliant  feats,  in  making  scientific  discoveries,  which 
could  not  have  been  effected  by  men  of  equal  intellectual 
ability,  but  without  the  concentrated  energy.  They 
strike  out  a  path  for  themselves ;  like  Lochinvar,  they 
swim  the  river  "  where  ford  there  is  none."  The  man 
with  one  clear  line  before  him  has  much  the  same  ad- 
vantages as  a  railway  carriage  has  over  one  on  a  common 
road,  and  he  moves  along  with  the  determination  of  a 
steam  train  on  the  rails  set  for  it.  Sometimes  the  ruling 
power  imparts  a  sublimity  to  things  that  ai-e  not  grand 
in  themselves;  thus  the  love  of  the  mother,  as  she  forgets 
her  personal  safety  in  defending  her  children,  makes  the 
weak  woman  strong  and  heroic.  In  other  cases,  the 
strong  ambition  being  attached  to  weak  capacities  makes 
the  person  ridiculous,  as  the  ambition  of  Charles  XII.  of 
Sweden  did.  But  when  there  is  any  corresponding  in- 
tellectual power  strong  characters  are  produced,  such  as 
those  of  Alexander,  Julius  Csesar,  Cromwell,  Napoleon, 
or  belonging  to  a  different  order,  Paul,  or  Knox,  or  Mil- 
ton, or  among  females,  as  Semiramis,  Cleopatra,  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  Catherine  of  Russia.  These  affections, 
like  the  great  rivers  of  the  world,  the  Nile,  the  Ganges, 
the  Mississippi,  the  Amazon,  drain  vast  regions  and  draw 


RULING  PASSIONS.  189 

their  waters  into  one  great  stream,  which  moves  along 
with  irresistible  power. 

This  ruling  passion  may  become  terrible  in  its  power ; 
carrying  all  before  it  like  a  swollen  river  with  torturing 
eddies,  sucking  all  things  as  into  a  whirlpool,  or  devour- 
ing all  around  like  the  conflugration  of  a  city.  Hidden 
it  may  be  from  the  eye,  but  when  an  object  strikes  it  or 
a  spark  is  applied  to  it,  it  bursts  forth  into  an  explosion 
of  passion  like  that  of  a  powder  magazine.  In  other 
cases  the  dynamic  is  compressed  towards  a  point  which 
it  strikes  like  a  bullet.  Those  impelled  by  this  dominant 
power  are  commonly  the  men  and  women  who  have  had 
the  largest  share  in  swaying  the  destinies  of  the  world. 
When  it  is  evil,  or  when  it  is  exclusive  and  not  restrained 
by  other  powers  meant  to  limit  it,  it  may  work  intoler- 
able evil,  Avasting  households  and  provinces  and  nations, 
and  spreading  rapine  and  misery.  When  it  is  a  selfish 
passion  it  may  wither  or  consume  the  natural  affections, 
lead  parents  who  are  superstitious  to  make  their  chil- 
dren pass  through  sacrificial  fires,  and  persons  naturally 
kind-hearted  to  become  relentless  persecutors,  and  con- 
querors when  resisted  to  order  the  murders  of  myriads  of 
innocent  women  and  children.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
it  is  good,  benevolence  will  flow  from  it  as  rays  do  from 
the  sun,  and  scatter  a  beneficent  influence  over  a  wide 
region,  whereby  vices  ai'e  restrained,  means  are  provided 
for  healing  the  sick,  outcasts  are  reclaimed,  and  the  poor 
have  their  wants  supplied. 

It  has  to  be  added  that  few  are  so  deeply  under  the 
dominion  of  one  passion  as  to  prevent  others  from  occa- 
sionally coming  in  and  giving  a  so-called  personality,  a 
supposed  incongruity  or  contradiction,  to  the  character; 
as  we  have  seen  the  miser  doing  a  generous  deed  to  a 
child  or  neighbor  for  whom  he  has  taken  a  fancy,  and 


\ 


190  CONTINUOUS   EMOTIONS. 

the  thief  giving  his  money  to  persons  in  distress,  and  the 
murderer  saving  the  lives  of  individuals  in  whom  he  has 
become  interested.  These  peculiarities  act  merely  as  the 
abutting  rocks  at  the  ledges  of  a  river,  raising  a  ruffling 
here  and  there,  but  ullowing  the  stream  all  the  while  to 
flow  on  with  uncontrollable  power. 

SECTION  IX. 

COMMUNITY   OF   FEELING. 

It  is  a  familiar  fact  that  feeling  is  apt  to  be  increased 
when  it  is  shared  by  others.  First,  in  forming  his 
opinions  a  man  is  apt  to  be  swayed  by  a  number  of  con- 
siderations not  altogether  directed  to  his  impartial  judg- 
ment ;  in  particular  he  may  allow  himself  to  believe  and 
act  simply  as  others  do.  Secondly,  a  common  public 
sentiment  has  usually  a  common  appetence  producing  a 
common  belief  and  hope,  kindling  a  common  enthusiasm, 
and  issuing  in  a  common  movement,  which  individuals 
join  because  they  are  heartily  with  it.  It  may  spring 
from  an  evil  which  all  feel  ought  to  be  remedied,  from 
the  sense  of  an  oppression  from  which  they  would  be 
delivered.  Take  such  events  as  the  Reformation  in 
Europe,  the  rising  against  Charles  I.  in  England,  the 
French  Revolution,  and  the  Proclamation  of  Independ- 
ence in  America ;  in  all  of  these  there  were  universal 
abuses  and  sources  of  irritation.  There  were  thus  seeds 
sown  ready  to  spring  up  simultaneously  under  the  first 
fostering  circumstances,  as  the  grain  does  in  spring. 
Thirdly,  arguments  and  appeals,  fitted  to  sway  our  judg- 
ments and  interest  our  feelings,  float  in  the  very  air. 
These,  pressed  upon  us  at  all  times  by  dear  friends,  by 
ministers  of  religion,  by  orators,  by  patriots,  must  pro- 
duce an  effect.     In  this  way  a  common  sentiment  is  ere- 


COMxMUNITY    OF   FEELING.  191 

ated.  There  are  states  of  society  in  which  "  fears  are  in 
the  way,"  and  the  very  air  is  tremulous,  and  there  is  a 
terror  as  of  overhanging  phigue  or  of  pestilence.  In  this 
sense  fear  is  infectious.  There  are  others  in  which  there 
is  a  stimukis  given  to  all  by  the  oxygenated  atmosphere 
which  they  breathe.  Every  age  has  its  prevailhig  faith, 
and  its  favored  medicine  for  curing  the  ills  of  society  or 
regenerating  the  world.  Ordinary  minds  are  sure  to  be 
sucked  in  by  the  current,  and  go  willingly  along  with  it. 
Only  the  men  of  independent  thought  and  resolute  will 
are  able  to  resist  the  swelling  torrent.  The  school-boy, 
who  has  to  oppose  the  practices  of  a  set  of  wicked  com- 
panions, shows  more  bravery  than  the  soldier  on  the 
battle-field.  There  may  be  as  much  courage  shown  in 
resisting  a  deluded  democracy  as  in  facing  the  scowl  of  a 
despot. 

It  is  a  fact  that  after  popular  opinion  has  run  for  a 
time  in  one  way  it  is  apt  to  be  arrested,  and  to  flow  in  a 
very  different  direction ;  and  this  in  rural  districts,  in 
villages,  in  cities,  in  communities,  in  nations,  in  conti- 
nents, in  social  circles  and  learned  societies,  in  religious 
sects,  in  literature  and  the  fine  arts.  A  period  of  reli^ 
gious  fervor  or  precisian  morals  is  apt  to  be  followed, 
as  we  see  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  of  England,  by  a 
time  of  indifference,  or  perhaps  of  infidelity,  of  scoffing 
and  profanity,  or  profligate  morality.  On  the  other 
hand,  an  age  of  wild  skepticism  and  licentiousness,  as  we 
see  in  the  first  French  Revolution,  brings  back  nations 
to  religion  or  to  superstition  and  a  sober  morality.  A 
long  reign  of  conservatism,  in  whicli  every  abuse  is  pro- 
tected and  every  proposed  change  frowned  down,  is  sure 
to  generate  an  opposite  force  going  on  to  reform,  which, 
gathering  to  excess,  bursts  in  a  thunder-storm  of  political 
convulsion,  which,  in  its  turn,  drives  thinking  men  to 


192  CONCLUSION. 

gather  round  the  cause  of  order.  The  world  thus  moves 
on,  like  light  and  heat,  by  vibrations,  and  is  kept  from 
stagnation,  like  the  ocean,  by  flows  and  ebbs. 

CONCLUSION. 

The  emotions  may  well  be  carefully  studied,  for  they 
constitute  the  main  means  of  our  happiness  or  our  misery. 
They  are  not  to  be  eradicated,  but  guided. 

"  Yet  why  so  harsh  "?     Why  with  remorseless  knife 
Home  to  the  stem  prune  back  each  bough  and  bud  ? 
I  thought  the  task  of  education  was 
To  strengthen,  not  to  crush,  to  train  and  feed 
Each  subject  towards  fulhllment  of  its  nature, 
According  to  the  mind  of  God,  revealed 
In  laws  congenial  with  every  kind 
And  character  of  man." 

The  emotions  are  all  good  in  themselves.  They  all 
tend  to  promote  our  own  welfare  or  that  of  others.  They 
attach  us  to  the  earth  on  which  we  dwell,  and  to  our 
fellow-men,  and  make  us  feel  our  dependence  on  God. 

But  they  do  not  contain  in  themselves  any  principle 
of  control.  So  they  may  lead  to  evil  as  well  as  good. 
They  are  to  be  guided  on  the  one  hand  by  our  intelli- 
gence, which  tells  us  what  things  are,  and  on  the  other 
hand  b}^  our  conscience,  which  announces  what  things 
ought  to  be.  When  so  ruled  they  give  a  high  elevation 
to  our  nature  ;  and  as  they  have  descended  like  the  rains 
from  the  sky,  so  their  breathings  mount  upwards  to 
heaven,  and  to  God. 


THE  CONSCIENCE. 


THE   CONSCIENCE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THEEE  IS   SUCH  A  POWER. 

This  is  acknowledged  even  by  those  —  such  as  Her- 
bert Spencer  —  who  give  a  very  erroneous  account  of  its 
nature.  Every  man  is  conscious  of  operations  passing 
in  him  which  bear  on  acts  which  are  culled  moral  or 
immoral.  He  feels  that  he  should  do  this  and  avoid 
that;  to  tell  the  truth  and  not  to  tell  a  lie;  to  protect 
the  innocent  and  condemn  the  criminal.  We  have  as 
clear  knowledge,  by  the  internal  sense,  of  these  mental 
acts  as  we  have,  by  the  senses,  of  bodies  with  their  shapes 
and  colors.  We  have  as  certain  evidence  of  these  moral 
or  immoral  qualities  as  we  have  of  the  intelligent  prop- 
erties, such  as  sensations,  notions,  beliefs,  and  judgments, 
which  have  passed  under  our  view  in  the  volume  on  the 
Cognitive  Powers.  A  psychology  looking  to  one  of  these 
kinds  of  mental  action  and  overlooking  the  other  would 
be  palpably  defective. 

The  power  which  perceives  and  reveals  the  various 
moral  acts  goes  by  different  names,  as  it  is  viewed  under 
different  aspects.  It  is  Conscience  (o-uiei8r;o£s  in  Greek, 
conscientia  in  Latin),  inasmuch  as  it  is  joint  knowledge 
looking  at  a  deed  and  perceiving  a  moral  quality  in  that 
deed.     It  is  a  Moral  Sense,  in  that  it  discovers  and  looks 


196  THE  CONSCIENCE. 

at  a  separate  quality,  as  each  of  the  senses  does.  It  is 
Moral  Reason,  in  that  it  contemplates  moral  excellence 
as  having  a  reality  in  the  nature  of  things.  It  is  the 
Practical  Reason,  in  that  it  relates  to  action. 

It  detects  and  contemplates  with  approval  or  disap- 
proval a  particular  quality,  that  is,  Moral  Good,  or  Moral 
Evil,  which  differs,  our  consciousness  being  judge,  from 
all  other  qualities,  bodily  or  mental. 

Some  maintain  that  we  get  all  our  knowledge  and 
ideas  directly  or  indirectly  from  the  senses.  Locke  held 
that  we  obtain  them  from  two  sources :  from  the  exter- 
nal and  internal  senses,  from  sensation  and  reflection,  or, 
as  we  prefer  saying  in  the  present  day,  from  sense-per- 
ception and  self-consciousness.  It  should  be  allowed,  I 
think,  that  we  thus  gain  our  knowledge  of  actually  exist- 
ing individual  objects.  By  the  one  we  know  this  and 
that  material  object;  by  the  other,  self  in  its  present 
state,  and  may  thence  rise  by  easy  inference  to  the  idea  of 
other  spiritual  beings,  such  as  our  fellow-men  and  God. 
But  here,  in  the  morally  good,  we  have  an  idea  which 
cannot  be  had  from  either  of  these  sources.  By  the 
moral  sense  we  know  more  than  we  do  by  the  senses, 
inner  or  outer.  We  see  a  man  lifting  his  hand  and 
striking  his  wife  ;  all  that  the  eye  perceives  are  certain 
forms  and  movements.  I  have  a  higher  knowledge  when 
I  discern  and  decide  that  this  act  is  bad.  As  the  exter- 
nal senses  cannot  give  the  idea,  so  neither  can  the  inter- 
nal consciousness  disclose  it  till  it  is  already  there,  and  if 
there  by  a  power  to  produce  it.  It  is  not  the  knowledge 
of  an  individual  new  thing,  such  as  a  man  or  a  tree,  but 
a  quality  of  things  previously  known,  of  mental  acts,  of 
a  quality'',  as  we  shall  see,  of  voluntary  acts. 

The  voluntary  act  at  which  the  conscience  looks  is 
made  known  directly  or  inferentially  by  consciousness, 


THERE  IS   SUCH  A  POWER.  197 

and  the  conscience  in  reflecting  on  it  declares  it  to  be 
good  or  bad  ;  this  is  the  joint  action  of  the  moral  power. 
This  is  a  new  cognition  ;  it  is  the  cognition  of  a  quality, 
no  doubt  previously  existing,  but  not,  it  may  be  pre- 
viously perceived.  And  as  there  is  a  grand  revelation 
when  the  infant  gains  a  knowledge  through  the  senses  of 
sounds,  colors,  forms,  resistances,  and,  as  there  is  a  still 
grander  view  disclosed,  when  it  awakes  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  thinking,  feeling,  loving,  there  is  the  grandest  of 
all  when  we  discover  certain  actions  to  be  good  and  com- 
mendable. This  knowledge,  being  recalled  spontaneously 
or  at  pleasure,  is  an  idea  of  the  most  elevated  kind :  it  is 
the  Good,  to  be  distinguished  from  the  True. 

As  it  cannot  be  had  from  the  senses,  so  neither  can 
it  be  obtained  from  the  common  intellectual  powers. 
Memory  can  recall  the  idea  when  once  we  have  it,  but 
cannot  furnish  it  in  the  first  instance.  Imagination  can 
multiply  and  diversify  the  ideas  if  only  we  once  possess 
them,  but  cannot  supply  the  original  apprehension.  Nor 
can  the  ideas  of  duty,  merit,  and  demerit,  proceed  from 
those  high  intellectual  powers  which  discover  such  rela- 
tions as  space,  time,  quantity,  causation  ;  we  might  dis- 
cern all  these  without  being  able  to  draw  the  distinction 
between  excellence  and  wickedness.  When  we  look  on 
certain  affections,  such  as  love  and  pity,  as  good,  and 
certain  deeds,  such  as  cruelty  and  deceit,  as  evil,  we  are 
in  the  exercise  of  a  special  power  entitled  to  be  called 
cognitive. 

Some  make  conscience  to  be  the  product  of  circum- 
stances acting  on  the  susceptibility  to  pleasure  and  pain. 
According  to  the  school  of  Hume  and  Mill,  the  idea  of 
moral  good  is  generated  by  association  of  ideas.  In  the 
system  of  Herbert  Spencer  it  is  ascribed  to  heredity. 
According  to  him  it  came  forth  somehow  or  other,  no 


198  THE  CONSCIENCE. 

one  can  tell  bow  (the  difficulty  in  the  system  is  to  get 
the  germ),  in  a  rudimentary  form,  and  has  gone  down 
through  the  lower  animals  to  man,  and  from  one  genera- 
tion to  anotlier.  I  am  not  at  this  place  to  enter  upon 
the  wide  discussion  thus  opened  ;  it  will  come  before 
us  when  we  have  first  determined  what  the  faculty  now 
is  in  man.  Here  I  content  myself  with  showing  that, 
however  produced,  there  is  in  moral  excellence  a  new 
and  distinct  idea,  different  from  the  idea  given  by  the 
other  inlets;  different,  for  example,  from  extension, 
color,  and  resistance.  As  sensation  cannot  give  it,  so  as- 
sociation cannot  gender  it  by  calling  up  sensations  in 
varied  combinations.  There  are  qualities  here  not  found 
in  sensations  ;  there  is  a  sense  of  something  we  owe  to 
others,  to  God,  and  to  man,  to  individuals  with  whom 
we  have  personal  relations,  and  to  society.  We  are  con- 
strained to  acknowledge  that  we  owe  reverence,  love, 
and  obedience  to  God,  and  that  we  ought  to  love  one 
another,  and  seek  to  promote  happiness  and  holiness  as 
we  have  opportunity.  There  may  be  sensation  and  as- 
sociation, possibly  even  heredity,  entering  into  the  com- 
plex state.  It  is  by  sensation  that  we  know  pleasure 
and  pain.  By  association  we  may  connect  pleasure  and 
pain  with  certain  acts.  By  heredity  the  gathered  in- 
dividual experiences  may  be  handed  down  from  father 
to  son.  But  all  this  while  the  idea  of  moral  good  is  as 
different  from  the  ideas  given  by  the  senses  or  the  mere 
intellect  as  the  plant  is  from  the  stone,  or  the  animal 
from  the  plant. 

^  In  seeking  to  establisli  by  such  considerations  and  argu- 
ments the  reality  of  a  distinct  moral  power,  we  are  met 
by  two  opposite  parties.  First,  there  are  those  who  take 
low  views  of  man's  nature,  and  represent  him  as  having 
no  faculties  different  in  kind  from  those  of  the  brute  ci-ea- 


THERE  IS   SUCH   A  POWER.  199 

tares.  These  resolve  moral  judgments  and  feelings  into 
selfishness,  or  utility,  or  sympathy.  Conspiring  with  them 
in  the  means,  though  not  in  the  end  aimed  at,  are  those 
who  regard  man  as  incapable  of  appreciating  moral  dis- 
tinctions apart  from  revealed  religion.  In  opposition  to 
the  former  of  these,  I  maintain  that  man  has  not  only  a 
principle  which  prompts  him  to  seek  his  own  happiness, 
but  one  which  leads  him  to  approve  of  the  good  and  to 
follow  it.  In  opposition  to  the  second,  I  hold  that  as 
revealed  truth  implies  an  understanding  to  which  it  is 
addressed  (it  says,  "I  speak  as  unto  wise  men,  judge 
ye  what  I  say  "),  so  it  also  presupposes  a  conscience  to 
which  it  appeals  (Rom.  ii.  15),  and  its  object  is  to  en- 
lighten, to  quicken,  and  to  rectify  both  the  reason  and 
the  conscience.  As  having  to  meet  these  opponents,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  lay  down  some  positions  as  to  what 
the  moral  faculty  cannot  do. 

1.  It  is  not  by  the  decision  of  the  moral  power  that 
an  action  ccmsidered  in  itself  is  made  either  virtuous  or 
vicious.  The  conscience  points  to  a  law  above  itself, 
which  determines  what  is  good  and  what  is  evil.  It  is 
not  the  touch  that  makes  the  body  which  it  grasps  solid, 
nor  is  it  the  eye  that  creates  the  colored  surface  which  it 
simply  sees,  and  just  as  little  does  the  conscience  make 
an  action  good  or  bad ;  the  morality  exists  whether  the 
moral  sense  sees  it  or  not,  and  the  conscience  is  merely 
the  organ  by  which  the  excellence  or  the  depravity  is 
made  known  to  us.  And  as  the  eye  may  be  diseased, 
so  may  the  conscience  become  perverted.  When  the  eye 
is  diseased,  an  attempt  should  be  made  to  rectify  it ;  and 
when  the  conscience  is  blunted  or  deceived,  there  should 
be  efforts  made  to  purify  its  vision.  But  these  attempts, 
in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other,  proceed  upon  the  assumed 
existence  of  a  native  power  which  it  is  of  moment  to  rec- 


200  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

tify,  because,  without  it,  the  corresponding  object  could 
not  be  properly  apprehended. 

2.  The  possession  of  a  conscience  does  not  make  any 
man  virtuous.  A  man  is  made  good,  not  by  distinguish- 
ing between  good  and  evil,  but  by  choosing  the  good  and 
avoiding  the  evil ;  not  by  having  a  conscience,  but  by 
what  is  a  different  thing,  by  the  obedience  rendered  to 
the  conscience.  This  is  a  very  obvious  truth  when  it  is 
stated,  but  it  has  been  strangely  overlooked  by  those 
who  conclude  that  a  man  is  virtuous  because  he  is  pos- 
sessed of  a  moral  power  with  its  responsive  feelings. 
These  people  do  not  reflect  that  the  moral  monitor  with 
its  avenging  feelings  is  ready  to  condemn  tlie  possessor 
when  he  is  without  the  affections  and  works  in  which 
virtue  truly  consists.  There  is  no  intelligent  being  so 
fallen  that  he  does  not  possess  the  moral  discernment ; 
it  may  be  sadly  perverted,  but  there  it  is  in  its  funda- 
mental form  ;  and  this  by  the  appointment  of  God,  that 
it  may  so  far  punish  him  and  enable  him  to  measure  the 
depth  of  his  degradation. 

3.  The  conscience  may  become  perverted  and  the  means 
of  misleading  us.  It  follows  that  a  man  may  have  a  power 
of  moral  discernment,  and  yet  be  very  wicked,  because  he 
does  not  attend  to  its  intimations.  It  is  a  sad  truth  that 
this  wickedness  may  react  on  the  conscience,  blunt  its 
perceptions,  and  pervert  its  decisions.  Under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  deceitful  will,  it  may  become  defiled  and  cor- 
rupted equally  with  the  understanding,  the  emotions,  or 
any  other  mental  capacity.  An  apostle  says  of  certain 
persons,  "  but  their  mind  and  conscience  is  defiled " 
(Titus  i.  15).  When  the  growl  of  the  thunder  is  heard, 
the  lightning  may  already  have  struck  its  victim ;  so  it 
often  happens  that  the  warning  of  the  conscience  is  not 
given  till  the  sin  has  been  committed. 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE   CONSCIENCE   AS   A  COGNITIVE  POWER. 

Our  business  in  this  work  on  Psychology  is  to  find  out 
and  describe  the  way  in  wliich  the  conscience  works, 
neither  adding  to  nor  subtracting  from  its  operations. 
In  doing  so  we  are  to  fix  on  its  properties,  and  bring 
them  forth  to  view,  specifying  their  peculiarities.  We 
are  not  to  determine  beforehand,  that  is,  before  inquiry, 
what  ought  to  be  its  mode  of  action;  we  are  to  inquire 
how  it  actually  works.  We  are  not  to  make  it  act  in  the 
same  way  as  the  other  faculties ;  we  are  to  allow  it  to 
proceed  in  its  own  proper  method.  We  are  not  to  insist 
on  the  power  which  looks  at  moral  good  operating  in  the 
same  way  as  any  other  power,  say,  sense-perception,  which 
looks  at  material  objects  ;  or  consciousness,  which  looks  at 
self ;  or  memory,  which  recalls  the  past.  We  shall  see, 
as  we  advance,  that  it  looks  to  a  special  class  of  objects, 
to  acts  of  the  will,  and  that  its  function  is  to  perceive 
the  good  and  the  evil  in  them. 

"The  positive  attestation,"  says  Dr.  Martineau  ("Types 
of  Ethical  Theory,"  Vol.  II.,  p.  9),  "of  any  faculty  is  to 
be  held  valid  against  doubts  springing  from  the  mere 
limitation  and  incompetency  of  another,  as  the  ear  is  not 
qualified  to  contradict  the  eye,  on  the  ground  that  the 
light  is  inaudible ;  neither  is  the  perceptive  power  enti- 
tled to  question  the  depositions  of  the  moral,  on  the  ground 
that  the  distinctions  of  right  and  wrong  and  the  essence 
of  binding  authority  cannot  be  conceived  and  expressed 


202  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

in  terms  of  the  senses."  "  Each  faculty  is  to  be  dictator 
in  its  own  sphere,  and  no  further  :  perception  among  the 
objects  of  sense,  conscience  as  to  the  conditions  of  duty  ; 
and  for  this  phiin  reason,  that  neither  has  any  jurisdic- 
tion or  insight  with  regard  to  the  realm  of  the  other. 
Moral  objects  cannot  be  tasted,  seen,  or  heard  ;  nor  are 
sapid  visible  audible  objects  appreciated  by  the  moral 
sense.  And  hence  it  will  turn  out  that  the  contradic- 
tions alleged  between  the  two  separate  faculties  are 
only  apparent ;  the  postulates  will  really  be  distinct  and 
never  meet ;  the  opposition  will  be  merely  negative, 
amounting  not  to  a  confutation  but  to  simple  absence 
of  evidence." 

It  should  be  noticed  that  the  moral  sense,  so  called  by 
Shaftesbury  and  Hutchison,  as  making  known  new  objects, 
reveals  a  reality  quite  as  much  as  the  external  and  inter- 
nal senses  when  they  show  extension  in  body  and  thought 
in  mind.  True,  it  is  not  the  same  kind  of  reality  which 
is  made  known  by  these  organs,  but  each  kind  has  as 
much  of  reality  as  the  other.  The  generosity  of  a  fiiend 
who  stood  by  us  in  trouble  is  as  much  a  realitj''  as  the 
money  he  gave  us ;  and  we  prize  the  one  more  than  the 
other,  the  inward  sentiment  being  higher  in  itself.  Ava- 
rice is  quite  as  much  an  actuality  as  hardness ;  liberality 
is  as  real  a  thing  as  the  gold  and  silver  which  it  dis- 
penses. We  should  habituate  ourselves  to  look  beyond 
the  things  that  are  seen  by  the  bodily  eye  to  those 
which  are  perceived  by  the  moral  and  spiritual  diseei'n- 
raent  of  our  higher  nature. 

But  what  kind  of  reality  is  in  the  moral  perception? 
The  answer  is.  What  we  know  it  to  be  by  our  native 
moral  perception.  We  know  what  honesty  is,  what  self- 
sacrifice  is,  what  love  is,  what  justice  is.  We  also  know 
what  malice  is,  what  envy  is,  what  revenge  is,  what  con- 


THE  CONSCIENCE  AS  A  COGNITIVE  POWER.     203 

cupiscence  is.  All  mankind  believe  as  firmly  in  the  one 
kind  of  reality  as  in  the  other ;  in  the  malignity  that 
raised  the  false  story  as  in  the  story  told,  in  the  passion 
that  fired  the  shot  as  in  the  shot  that  caused  the  murder. 

When  we  say  that  conscience  is  a  knowing  power,  it 
is  to  be  understood  that  it  appears  in  all  the  forms  in 
which  our  other  knowing  powers,  that  is,  the  intellectual, 
manifest  themselves.  I  hold  that  our  intelligence  begins 
with  the  knowledge  of  individual  objects.  But  it  spreads 
out  in  a  variety  of  ways.  It  plays  in  fancy.  It  soars  in 
imagination.  It  mounts  to  faith  in  the  unseen  in  time 
and  eternity.  It  asserts  itself  in  judgment.  The  moral 
capacity  takes  like  shapes.  It  begins  with  the  percep- 
tion of  good  and  evil  in  ourselves.  But  it  shoots  out 
in  various  branches.  Children  have  their  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong.  They  have  their  tales,  such  as  the  Babes  in 
the  Wood,  of  innocence  and  atrocity.  The  poet  and  the 
novelist  deal  with  heroic  deeds,  with  seductions  and  mur- 
ders. The  ancient  Greek  dramatists  were  fond  of  show- 
ing us  the  avenger  pursuing  crime  with  a  penalty,  follow- 
ing its  victims  to  distant  countries  and  going  down  from 
father  to  son.  We  all  sympathize  morally  with  Shake- 
speare's account  of  the  feelings  which  moved  like  waves  in 
the  breast  of  Lady  Macbeth  after  the  murder  of  the  king. 
In  particular,  the  moral  power  may  take  two  forms. 

Moral  Faiths.  These  are  among  the  highest  exercises 
of  the  mind.  We  delight  to  dwell  on  deeds  of  excellence : 
of  purity,  of  courage,  of  self-sacrifice,  of  generosity,  of 
godliness.  As  we  gaze  upon  these  ideals  we  admire 
them,  our  characters  are  moulded  upon  them,  and  we 
become  assimilated  to  them.  In  like  manner  the  right- 
eous soul,  vexed  with  unlawful  deeds,  condemns  and  ab- 
hors them,  and  acquires  that  hatred  of  sin  which  is  an 
essential  element  in  all  holy  character. 


204  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

Moral  Judgments.  All  the  exercises  of  the  moral 
power  may  assert  themselves  in  this  form.  We  are  con- 
stantly passing  judgments  upon  our  own  actions  and 
those  of  others.  Public  opinion  is  constantly  delivering 
its  utterances  on  every  great  event  that  is  happening. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  CONSCIENCE  AS  A  MOTIVE  POWER  WITH  EMOTIONS. 

All  men  take  this  view  of  conscience.  Some,  such  as 
Thomas  Brown,  make  it  a  mere  class  of  emotions  over- 
looking the  ideas  in  all  emotions. 

Some  of  the  highest  feelings  of  our  nature  are  called 
forth  by  great  and  good  actions,  by  charity,  by  compas- 
sion, by  long  suffering,  by  courage,  by  sacrifice,  by  hero- 
ism. Some  of  the  most  terrible  of  feelings  are  stirred  up 
by  criminality  in  thought  or  act.  The  emotion  arises 
according  to  the  idea  that  gives  rise  to  it.  Candid,  hon- 
est conduct  pursued  habitually  from  day  to  day  generates 
self-approving  feelings,  which  may  have  nothing  of  self- 
righteousness  in  them.  He  who  stands  up  manfully  to 
oppose  the  wrong  feels  himself  braced  by  the  act.  •  He 
who  cherishes  a  constant  kindness  has  as  much  enjoyment 
in  his  deeds  as  the  recipient  of  his  kindness  can  possibly 
have.  High  thoughts  tend  to  enlarge  and  elevate  the 
mind.  A  generous  deed  performed  diffuses  a  glow 
through  the  breast  of  the  doer.  Prayer,  as  it  ascends 
to  heaven,  tends  to  carry  up  the  soul  thither. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  deepest  feelings  may  be  called 
forth  by  sin.  Low  and  debasing  thoughts  produce  a 
constant  dissatisfaction.  Every  dishonesty  tends  to  pro- 
duce reproaches.  The  cheat  lives  under  a  constant  fear 
of  being  detected.  Every  act  of  violence  is  liable  to  be 
followed  by  a  regurgitation  of  temper.  Habitual  trans- 
gression genders  perpetual  remorse.  It  is  often  felt  that 
the  blood  of  murder  can  never  be  washed  out. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHAT  THE   CONSCIENCE   REVEALS. 

Prelimindry.  It  is  a  Perceiving  Power.  It  notices  in 
certain  voluntary  acts  a  moral  quality  as  clearly  as  the 
eye  observes  colors  in  body,  and  as  the  consciousness 
discovers  thinking  and  feeling  in  the  mind.  We  per- 
ceive the  quality  first  in  ourselves  and  then  in  others. 
On  reflecting  on  this  deed  of  cowardice  into  which  we  fell, 
we  pronounce  it  to  be  mean ;  and  on  that  act  of  charity, 
we  declare  it  to  be  noble.  We  are  sure  that  there  is 
excellence  in  this  daughter,  devoting  herself  to  promote 
the  comfort  of  her  aged  mother ;  we  condemn  the  son 
who  neglects  the  father,  so  kind  to  him  in  his  younger 
years.  We  are  as  certain  that  there  is  duty  in  the  reso- 
lution to  resist  evil,  as  there  is  solidity  in  that  lead  and 
gold. 

I.  There  is  obligation  implied  in  those  acts  which  are 
perceived  to  he  good  or  evil.  When  I  simply  view  that 
coin  or  that  sword,  this  brilliant  intellectual  feat,  or  that 
artistic  taste,  I  believe  in  the  existence  of  the  things 
and  may  be  constrained  to  admire  them,  but  I  have  no 
conviction  that  there  is  any  duty  devolving  on  me  in  con- 
sequence. But  when  the  moral  power  looks  at,  and 
discovers  that  this  coin  would  relieve  a  person  in  pov- 
erty ;  that  this  sword  might  defend  an  innocent  man 
from  danger,  a  conviction  arises  that  I  have  something 
to  do  with  them,  and  that  I  ought  to  use  them  to  pro- 
mote these  good  ends.      In  the  very  perception   of  a 


WHAT   THE   CONSCIENCE  REVEALS.  207 

morally  good  proposal,  there  is  implied  in  it  as  an  essen- 
tial element  that  it  is  8e6v,  that  there  is  a  duty,  and  there 
is  an  obligation  to  attend  to  it.  On  the  other  side,  when 
a  temptation  to  evil  is  laid  before  us,  say  to  tell  a  lie,  or 
indulge  in  forbidden  pleasures,  there  is  an  obligation  laid 
on  us  to  resist  it ;  and  if  we  neglect  to  do  so,  we  feel  that 
we  have  done  wrong  and  deserve  punishment. 

The  following  seems  to  be  a  correct  account  of  the 
requirements  which  the  conscience  makes  and  the  judg- 
ments it  pronounces.  I.  It  authoritatively  demands  that 
certain  actions  be  done.  II.  That  certain  actions  be  not 
done.  III.  It  declares  that  the  performance  of  the  first 
class  is  commendable,  approvable,  rewavdable,  and  IV. 
That  the  omission  of  the  first  or  commission  of  the  second 
is  wrong,  condemnable,  punishable.  It  thus  appears  that 
the  conscience  claims  authority  and  demands  obedience ; 
it  has  its  precepts  and  prohibitions.  It  should  be  noticed 
that  the  conscience  proclaims  not  only  the  first  and  second, 
but  the  third  and  fourth  of  the  judgments  above  enumer- 
ated ;  it  declares  that  the  omission  of  duty  or  the  commis- 
sion of  sin  is  to  be  avoided.  Hence  the  sense  of  guilt  and 
the  fear  of  impending  judgments  which  sin  brings  with  it 
sooner  or  later.  This  feeling  of  reproach  as  to  the  past, 
and  of  apprehension  as  to  the  future,  is  one  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  our  nature,  and  he  who  overlooks  it  is  losing 
sight  of  one  of  the  striking  properties  of  humanity. 

II.  Tlie  Idea  of  Law  is  involved  in  Conscience.  In 
this  respect  the  conscience  is  different  from  all  the  other 
powers,  such  as  the  memory,  imagination,  or  reasoning. 
These,  no  doubt,  do  in  a  sense  take  the  form  of  a  law, 
inasmuch  as  they  have  a  prescribed  rule  and  act  in  a 
regular  manner ;  for  instance,  association  of  ideas  follows 
the  laws  of  contiguity  and  correlation.  But  it  is  in  a 
different  and  higher  sense  that  the  moral  power  in  man 


208  THE  CONSCIENCE. 

implies  a  law.  It  points  to  a  law  above  itself  which  it  is 
bound  to  obey.  Nay,  it  takes  to  itself  the  form  of  a  law. 
"  They  who  have  no  law  (no  written  law)  are  a  law  unto 
themselves  which  show  the  work  of  the  law  written  in 
their  hearts  "  (Rom.  ii.  15).  It  is  a  law  not  in  the  same 
sense  as  gravitation  is  a  law,  chemical  affinity,  or  the  law 
of  resemblance  in  association  of  ideas ;  but  as  the  edicts 
of  a  government,  the  commands  of  a  father,  of  a  master, 
or  of  God:  there  is  something  enjoined,  required.  The 
idea  of  this  law,  unchangeable  and  eternal,  reaching  over 
all  intelligences,  is  one  of  the  highest  which  the  mind  of 
man  can  attain.  It  involves  right,  title,  claim.  It  im- 
plies obedience  and  disobedience,  merit  and  demerit,  and 
genders  the  idea  of  reward  and  punishment  as  beyond 
mere  happiness  and  misery,  and  as  it  is  in  fact  deserved 
happiness  and  misery. 

The  idea  of  law  seems,  by  a  single  logical  step,  to 
carry  with  it  the  idea  of  a  lawgiver.  Kant  seems  alto- 
gether right  when  he  maintains  that  the  law,  which  he 
describes  truly  and  felicitously  as  the  categorical  imper- 
ative, justifies  as  a  corollary  the  Being  of  God  as  a  moral 
governor  being  always  accompanied  by  the  perception  of 
design  in  the  universe.  Upon  our  recognizing  the  living 
God  as  governor,  the  conscience  announces  that  we  are 
responsible  to  Him,  "so  then  every  one  must  give  account 
of  himself  to  God."  But  if  we  are  to  render  an  account 
there  must  be  a  day  of  reckoning  in  this  life  or  the  life 
to  come.  He  who  hath  appointed  the  law  so  autiiorita- 
tively,  and  proclaimed  it  so  emphatically,  must  needs 
inquire  whether  it  has  or  has  not  been  obeyed ;  in  other 
words,  must  be  a  judge.  But  this  work  is  not  fully  dis- 
chai'ged  in  this  present  state  of  things,  and  therefore  we 
look  for  another.  There  are  times,  indeed,  when  God 
seems  to  set  up  a  judgment  on  earth,  and  calls  men 


WHAT   THE   CONSCIENCE   REVEALS.  209 

before  it.  There  are  examples  ever  and  anon  of  stu- 
diously concealed  wickedness  being  brought  to  light  and 
exposed,  of  the  arm  of  violence  being  arrested  when  the 
blow  was  about  to  descend,  and  of  the  deceitful  man 
being  caught  in  the  net  which  he  laid  for  others.  These 
cases,  however,  are  not  uniform,  nor  are  they  without 
palpable  exceptions.  They  are  confirmations  of  our  moral 
decisions,  but  they  do  not  come  fully  up  to  their  demands 
which  insist  that  what  is  partial  here  be  at  last  universal. 
Our  moral  nature  giving  these  intimations  to  the  world 
at  large  seems  to  carry  a  special  message  to  every  man 
that  he  must  appear  before  the  judge.  To  the  great  body 
of  mankind  the  conscience  is  the  monitor  which  tells 
them  of  the  world  to  come. 

III.  The  Conscience  gives  the  Idea  and  Sense 
OF  Sin.  It  gives  these  as  clearly  as  the  idea  and  sense 
of  moral  good.  It  approves  of  the  good,  but  it  also  dis- 
approves of  the  evil.  It  as  certainly  forbids  the  one  as 
it  commands  the  other.  The  law  which  commends  the 
duty  condemns  the  disobedience  to  it ;  putting  and  press- 
ing the  question,  but  not  answering  it :  How  are  we  to  be 
delivered  from  it  ?  I  cannot  close  this  pai-agraph  without 
remarking  how  strange  it  is  that  our  high  academic 
moralists,  as  Chalmers  used  to  call  them,  should  dis- 
course so  eloquently  about  the  beaut}'  of  moral  excellence, 
without  ever  calling  attention  to  the  fact  than  man  falls 
so  far  beneath  it. 

IV.  The  Conscience  is  not  merely  coordinate 
with  the  other  powers  ;  it  is  above  them  as  an 
arbiter  and  a  judge.  It  would  through  the  Will 
guide,  restrain,  and  control  the  memory,  imagination, 
judgment,  and  all  other  powers,  proclaiming  that  it  is 
superior  to  them  and  has  authority  over  them,  and  de- 
ciding when  they  are  to  be  curbed,  and  when  they  are  to 


210  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

be  allowed  full  operation.  It  tells  the  memory  when  it 
should  bring  up  the  past;  the  imagination  when  it  should 
be  forbidden  to  enter  malignant  or  unchaste  regions ; 
and  the  judgment  that  it  should  look  at  the  whole  facts 
before  it  comes  to  a  decision.  This  is  the  great  truth 
established  by  Bishop  Butler,  and  constitutes  the  one 
excellence  of  English  ethics. 

V.  It  looks  to  acts  of  the  will  and  decides  upon  them. 
This  it  does  directly,  and  then  through  them  it  has 
influence  on  all  our  actions,  in  the  mind  and  beyond  it. 
In  fact,  it  is  the  Practical  Reason,  by  its  motive  power 
enlivened  by  feeling,  prompting,  curbing  —  as  the  rider 
does  his  horse  —  the  habitual  acts  of  the  man  and  form- 
ing his  character.  But  the  will  which  thus  falls  under 
the  conscience  has  a  very  wide  jurisdiction,  embracing 
more  than  is  commonly  allotted  to.  Its  essence  is  Choice^ 
and  there  is  will  of  which  the  conscience  judges  in  every 
act  in  which  there  is  choice.  Whatever  it  be  that  is  in 
a  man's  power  either  to  accept  or  reject,  either  to  do  or 
not  do,  is  within  the  province  of  the  Will.  It  embraces 
not  only  volition  or  the  determination  to  act,  but  with 
concupiscence,  attention,  preference,  all  the  volitional 
acts  that  sway  the  other  exercises  of  the  mind.  All  this 
v^ill  be  unfolded  when  we  come  to  speak  of  the  Will  as 
a  department  of  the  mind. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  CONSCIENCE  IN  ACTUAL  EXERCISE. 

The  office  of  the  conscience  is  to  show  us  what  is 
good  and  what  is  evil,  just  as  it  is  the  design  of  the  in- 
tellect to  show  us  what  is  real  and  what  is  not  real,  what 
is  true  and  what  is  false.  Let  us  look  at  the  forms  which 
it  takes  and  the  way  in  which  it  works  in  the  human 
heart.  It  is  ever  performing  its  functions  in  one  way  or 
other ;  but  often  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  manner,  silent 
when  it  should  speak,  and  speaking  when  it  might  be 
silent,  mistaking  the  character  of  an  action,  and  declar- 
ing good  to  be  evil  and  evil  good.  Let  us  view  it  in  its 
Corrupt  and  in  its  Rectified  forms.  In  illustrating  this 
subject  it  is  of  importance  to  bear  in  mind,  that  when 
we  speak  of  the  conscience  doing  this  and  that,  we  are 
not  so  to  personify  it  as  to  make  it  a  living  agent  like 
the  soul  itself.  The  conscience  is  nothing  else  than  the 
mind  directed  to  a  particular  class  of  objects,  to  volun- 
tary acts ;  and  in  all  its  acts  other  powers  of  the  mind 
may  join  with  it. 

1st.  There  ma}'  be  a  Slumbering  Conscience.  It  does 
not  perceive  or  feel  the  obligation  of  the  good  to  which 
it  should  prompt  us ;  and  it  does  not  discover  the  evil 
against  which  it  should  warn  us  ;  it  is  set  as  a  watch  dog, 
and  does  not  sound  the  alarm.  There  can  be  a  reason 
given  for  all  this.  It  is  somnolent,  and  does  not  wish  to 
be  disturbed,  it  says,  "  a  little  more  sleep,  a  little  more 
slumber,  a  little  more  folding  of   the  hands  in  sleep." 


212  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

The  man  does  not  wish  to  do  that  which  is  good,  it 
requires  such  labor  and  self-sacrij&ce ;  he  would  rather 
not  hear  of  it ;  he  would  rather  not  know  of  that  poor 
relative  or  neighbor,  or  dependent,  whom  he  might  aid 
in  difficulty.  The  thought  of  his  omissions  and  commis- 
sions does  not  gratify  his  pride,  and  he  would  rather  not 
be  troubled  with  them.  Persons  of  this  temper  may 
pass  through  life  with  a  wonderful  amount  of  content- 
ment and  self-complacency,  practising  the  ordinary  vir- 
tues of  their  family,  or  social  or  business  circle,  but  with 
little  or  no  reproach  as  to  the  neglect  of  higher  duties ; 
feeling,  if  not  saying,  We  have  not  been  cruel  to  our 
household  or  dishonest  in  our  business,  we  have  not  been 
thieves  or  murderers,  and  so  we  are  good :  — 

2d.  An  Accusing  Conscience.  This  is  apt  to  be  felt 
in  the  first  instance  in  slight  restraints,  as  slight  as  the 
checks  by  which  the  rider  guides  his  steed.  But  there 
is  a  more  decisive  struggle  when  the  man  is  evidently 
bent  on  going  out  of  his  course,  and  the  conscience  has 
to  issue  its  order,  and  when  it  is  disobeyed  it  has  to  whip 
and  lash.  The  feeling  is,  "  I  should  not  have  done  this ; " 
it  is  one  of  regret  and  compunction,  all  arising  from  an 
accusation  or  charge  being  made.  The  effect  of  this 
warning  is  to  startle  and  alarm,  and  if  this  is  properly 
attended  to  it  may  lead  to  repentance,  as  now  required 
by  the  conscience,  and  a  resolution  to  avoid  the  deed  for 
the  future.     But  frequently  the  issue  is  different. 

3d.  There  is  an  Excusing  Conscience.  In  this  we  have 
not  only  the  moral  sense,  but  the  heart  or  will  raising 
up  exculpatory  "thoughts."  So  the  Apostle  (Rom.  ii. 
15)  says,  giving  the  whole  complex  powers:  (1)  that 
there  is  a  law  written  in  the  heart ;  (2)  that  the  con- 
science comes  in  with  its  joint  witness ;  and  (3)  that  the 
thoughts  accuse  or  charge,  or  else  excuse.     To  avoid  the 


THE   CONSCIENCE  IN  ACTUAL   EXERCISE.  213 

accusing,  the  excusing  begins  and  stirs  up  a  nest  of 
thoughts  which  would,  by  their  contentions,  distract  the 
attention  and  ward  off  the  blow.  These  internal  dis- 
cussions may  take  a  variety  of  shapes.  First  an  attempt 
may  be  made  to  overlook  the  deed,  to  drown  the  still 
small  voice  by  louder  noise,  say,  the  bustle  of  business 
or  the  din  of  folly.  But  if  this  be  impossible,  if  there 
has  been  manifest  evil  done,  pain  inflicted,  chidings  on 
the  part  of  those  we  esteem  or  love,  then  these  terrible 
assaults  like  the  strong  wind,  and  the  internal  struggles 
like  the  earthquake,  and  the  convictions  burning  like  the 
fire  will  so  arouse  the  soul  that  it  must  attend  to  the 
voice  which,  if  not  so  loud,  is  more  penetrating  than  all 
its  precursors,  asking,  "  What  hast  thou  done  ?  "  The 
effort  will  now  be  to  palliate  the  offense,  to  plead  exten- 
uating circumstances,  to  set  some  supposed  good  done 
over  against  the  sin,  generally  to  cover  the  evil  out  of 
sight,  to  bury  it  beneath  a  load  of  earth.  This  can  be 
accomplished  by  the  "  thoughts  "  the  more  easily  and 
effectively,  because  the  evil  deed  may  have  been  of  a 
concrete  or  complex  character,  and  may  be  viewed  under 
favorable  asjDects.  This  deceitful  speech  was  to  cover  a 
friend  ;  this  profane  word  was  to  express  our  sense  of  ill 
usage ;  this  rude  word  to  rebuke  an  improper  deed  ;  this 
lust  had  love  in  it ;  this  covetousness  proposed  to  gain 
wealth  for  a  good  end.  The  thoughts  in  their  natural 
action  will  thus  construct  a  covering  which  may  become 
as  hard  and  impenetrable  as  that  of  the  shellfish.  The 
accusing  will  thus  lead  to  excusing,  the  charge  to  the 
defense.  Many  seem  to  live  all  their  days  in  this  inter- 
mediate, disputed  country,  flitting  from  the  one  to  the 
other,  ever  driven  back  from  the  reproach  to  the  ex- 
cuse, and  the  excuse  allowing  some  new  offense  with  its 
charge.     Surely  this  is  an  unhappy  position,  exposed  to 


214  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

attacks  on  both  sides  ;  yet  it  is  that  of  the  great  body 
of  mankind,  ''  the  thoughts  meanwhile  accusing  or  else 
excusing  one  another."     Out  of  this  may  come  — 

4th.  A  Perverted  Conscience.  In  consequence  of  these 
conflicting  thoughts,  of  these  accusations  and  excuses, 
the  conscience  may  become  confused,  uncertain  in  its 
decisions,  and  ever  falling  into  error.  In  consequence  of 
viewing  things  obliquely,  the  eye  has  got  out  of  its 
proper  place  and  can  see  nothing  correctly.  It  may  call 
that  which  is  good  evil  and  that  which  is  evil  good. 
Thus  Paul  could  claim  that  he  acted  conscientiously, 
and  yet  he  thought  with  himself  that  "  he  ought  to  do 
many  things  contrary  to  the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth;" 
and  so  he  breathed  out  threatenings  and  slaughter  and 
"made  havoc  of  the  church,  entering  into  every  house, 
and  haling  men  and  women,  committed  them  to  prison." 
The  bitterest  persecutors,  religious  and  anti-religious, 
the  inquisitors  of  Spain,  and  the  bloody  fanatics  of  the 
French  Revolution,  have  iil  many  cases  been  conscien- 
tious but  witli  a  terribly  perverted  conscience,  looking  to 
a  very  different  law  than  that  to  which  it  should  ever 
look,  the  royal  law  of  love.  I  have  noticed  that  those  who 
have  been  trained  in  secret  societies,  collegiate  or  polit- 
ical, and  in  trades-unions,  that  priests,  Jesuits,  Thugs, 
Molly  McGuires,  have  their  sense  of  right  and  wrong  so 
perverted  that  in  the  interests  of  the  body  with  which 
they  have  identified  themselves  they  will  commit  the 
most  atrocious  crimes,  not  only  without  compunction,  but 
with  an  approving  heart  and  with  the  plaudits  of  their 
associates.  By  such  training  and  binding  connections 
the  conscience  has  got  a  twist,  and  has  become  crooked, 
and  cannot  be  made  straight  by  any  human  means.  The 
same  thing  is  seen  in  the  excuses  and  defenses  proffered 
by  tradesmen,  by  business  and  professional  men,  for  the 


THE  CONSCIENCE  IN   ACTUAL   EXERCISE.  215 

trickeries  commonly  pi-actised.  In  till  these  cases  some 
good  end  is  contemplated  by  the  mind  and  approved  of 
by  the  conscience,  the  promotion  ot"  a  great  cause,  of  the 
church,  or  of  a  noble  brotherhood  of  men,  or  of  a  high 
profession,  or  of  the  individual's  own  well-being,  and 
other  aspects  of  the  deed  are  kept  studiously  out  of  view. 

5th.  A  Troubled  Conscience.  This  arises  when  there 
is  a  warfare  without  either  side  gaining  the  victory.  It 
may  have  been  with  a  severe  coniiict  in  which  there  has 
been  a  terrible  charge  on  tlie  part  of  the  accuser,  and  a 
stout  defense  on  the  part  of  the  excuser,  ending  in  a 
drawn  battle  in  which  tlie  opposing  parties  are  left  frown- 
ing on  each  other.  It  is  apt  to  be  continued  in  a  guerrilla 
war  Avith  daily  offenses  and  daily  defenses.  The  soul 
which  is  the  scene  of  such  conflicts  becomes  wasted  and 
sterile  and  produces  no  such  fruit  as  it  ought.  Sometimes, 
especially  after  the  comn)ission  of  a  great  offense,  say,  a  fit 
of  drunkenness,  this  troubling  becomes  a  fever  with  a  high 
pulse,  a  constant  restlessness  and  sleeplessness  and  strug- 
gle, which  waste  and  do  not  strengthen.  At  these  times 
the  sins  come  back  into  the  recollection  as  it  were  with  a 
detective  glaring  and  reproachful  eyes.  As  they  do  so, 
they  stir  up  a  succession  of  feelings,  accusations,  com- 
punctions, regrets  as  to  the  past  and  fears  as  to  the 
future,  which  chase  each  other  as  wave  does  wave  in  an 
agitated  ocean,  but  with  constant  crossings  and  crestings 
and  foam. 

6th.  A  Blunted  Conscience.  This  is  apt  to  be  the  en- 
during issue  of  a  long  contest  with  it.  The  heart  being 
exasperated, and  this  being  intolerable  ("a  wounded  spirit 
who  can  bear  ?  "),  a  strong  determination  is  formed  to  cau- 
terize it,  and  it  is  "seared  as  with  a  red-hot  iron."  It 
now  loses  all  sensibility  of  touch  and  quickness  of  percep- 
tion.   The  man  does  evil  without  knowing  it,  and  when 


216  THE  CONSCIENCE. 

he  feels  the  reproach  coming  he  has  an  opiate  to  soothe 
it.  So  after  having  one  or  two  falls  rough  as  a  cataract, 
the  stream  of  life  passes  sluggishly  on  to  its  termination 
in  swamps  and  mud. 

7th.  A  Pacified  Conscience.  At  this  point  one  of  the 
most  difficult  of  all  questions  in  Ethics  is  started.  How, 
when  sin  has  been  committed,  is  the  conscience  to  be  paci- 
fied ?  The  conscience  will  insist,  first,  that  there  be  re- 
pentance ;  secondly,  that  there  be  confession  when  a  party 
has  been  offended;  thirdl}'',  that  there  be  reformation;  and 
fourthly,  reparation  where  injurj'^  has  been  done.  But 
is  this  enough  ?  First,  there  is  the  difficult}'  of  getting 
penitence  and  a  change  of  conduct ;  for  there  is  a  strong 
disposition  to  continue  in  the  sin  and  to  justify  it.  Then 
it  is  often  impossible  to  make  reparation  of  any  kind  to 
the  person  injured,  he  may  be  beyond  our  reach,  may,  for 
instance,  be  dead ;  or  the  evil  inflicted  may  have  been 
moral :  the  person  has  been  tempted  to  sin,  and  the  sin  is 
working  its  effects  which  the  tempter  is  not  able  to  coun- 
teract. But  on  the  supposition  that  all  this  has  been 
done,  the  question  still  presses  itself :  Is  this  sufficient  ? 
The  natural  conscience  seems  to  say  that  it  is  not.  For 
after  committing  a  flagrant  act,  men  have  commonly  been 
led  by  native  impulse  to  look  round  for  an  expiation  of 
some  kind,  to  propose  to  give  an  offering,  or  perform  a 
laborious  service,  or  practice  a  painful  abnegation.  But 
after  they  have  made  the  sacrifice,  it  does  not  follow  that 
the  conscience  is  appeased.  On  the  contrary,  after  the 
most  excruciating  tortures  have  been  submitted  to,  it  seems 
still  to  frown  like  Sinai's  top,  and  to  leave  its  sentence 
upon  us.  People  may  say  that  in  all  this  the  conscience 
is  perverted  and  has  become  the  slave  of  superstition. 
But  let  those  who  advance  this  objection  tell  us  plainly 
when  the  conscience  should  be  satisfied,  and  let  us  know 


THE   CONSCIENCE  IN  ACTUAL   EXERCISE.  217 

what  they,  following  the  law  of  conscience,  would  say  to 
the  liar,  the  perjurer,  the  drunkard,  the  adulterer,  the 
murderer.  This  is  a  question  which  the  Ethical  philoso- 
pher is  bound  to  attempt  to  answer.  As  he  does  so,  he 
may  find  and  be  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  he  cannot 
give  a  reply  satisfactory  to  reason,  satisfactory  to  himself, 
and  he  may  gather  valuable  lessons  from  his  felt  inability. 
The  law  requires  love  and  obedience ;  the  conscience,  when 
the  act  is  fairl}^  presented  to  it,  will  condemn  all  selfish 
and  malignant  feeling,  and  all  disobedience.  But  that  law 
is  evidently  broken  !  what  is  to  be  dune  now?  To  repent, 
may  be  the  reply.  That  repentance  is  the  present  duty, 
and  that  the  conscience  demands  it,  is  admitted  by  alh 
But  that  past  sin :  is  there  any  provision  in  that  law  which 
requires  it  to  admit  present  repentance,  even  when  genu- 
ine, as  an  atonement  for  past  transgression  ?  The  sin  as  a 
violation  of  God's  law  remains;  and  the  conscience  seems 
to  be  clamoring  for  some  expiation,  and  yet  cannot,  or  at 
least  does  not,  say  what  it  would  accept.  In  this  state  of 
uncertainty  and  fear  all  manner  of  expedients  are  resorted 
to,  if  possible,  to  allay  the  eludings  of  the  accuser.  First, 
gifts  may  be  offered  as  a  bribe  to  the  God  whose  law  has 
been  broken.  But  these  being  of  doubtful  efficacy,  pri- 
vations and  pains  are  resorted  to,  to  appease  offended  pow- 
ers and  turn  away  wrath.  Pilgrimages  are  undertaken  ; 
enjoyments  in  meats  and  drinks  and  meetings  for  mirth 
are  denied.  Stripi'S  and  other  lacerations  are  inflicted, 
and  fathers  and  mntliers  give  the  fruit  of  the  body  for 
the  sin  of  the  soul  Then  whole  holocausts  of  men,  wo- 
men, and  chiklnMi  have  been  offered  to  enraged  demons 
when  nations  are  afraid  of  impending  judgments. 

To  this  point  conscience,  and  natural  ethics  founded  on 
it,  carry  us,  and  here  they  leave  us  in  a  land  of  shadows, 
doubts,  and  difficulties.     It  is  when  we  are  thus  wander- 


218  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

ing  that  the  religion  of  Christ  meets  us,  and  tells  us  of 
a  rigliteousness  which  fulfills  the  law,  and  of  a  suffering 
and  death  to  make  atonement.  If  these  were  offered  by 
any  other,  the  thought  might  start  difficulties,  but  being 
presented  by  God,  the  lawgiver,  governor,  and  judge,  the 
doubts  all  disappear,  and  the  conscience  is  satisfied  in 
union  with  Him  who  delivers  us  from  the  power  and  do- 
minion of  sin.  Millions  have  rejoiced  in  the  glad  tidings 
thus  brought  them.  Surely  all  should  feel  grateful  if 
they  can  hear  of  a  way  by  which  they  may  be  delivered 
from  the  burden  of  past  sin,  to  start  on  a  life  of  new  obe- 
dience. 

8th.  A  Purified  Conscience.  In  order  to  this,  it  is 
necessary  that  the  conscience  be  first  pacified,  for  without 
this  it  would  still  accuse,  and  there  would  be  chafing  and 
rebellion.  But  the  inward  monitor  being  trusted,  there  is 
peace  and  a  preparation  for  purity.  The  moral  sense  being 
quickened  discovers  the  evil  at  once,  and  shrinks  from  it. 
Having  its  vision  purified,  it  perceives  the  good,  approves 
and  appreciates  it,  and  acknowledges  the  obligation  to  at- 
tend to  it.  The  conscience  always  looking  to  the  law  may 
become  the  regulator  of  the  life,  and  may  come  to  rule 
easily  as  well  as  effectively,  for  it  has  met  and  conquered 
opposition.  Sinful  pleasure  ceases  to  be  a  temptation,  it 
has  lost  its  attractions.  Habits  and  tendencies  —  the  re- 
sults of  habits  and  new  affections  will  concur  to  lead  the 
man  in  the  right  way.  It  is  thus  that  we  are  sure  of  cer- 
tain men  that  they  will  not  do  a  mean  or  dishonorable  or 
malignant  or  profane  act,  and  we  can  trust  their  word 
and  confide  in  their  acts.  They  may  come  to  be  and  to 
do  good  naturally ;  that  is,  all  the  dispositions  of  their 
new  natui-e  tend  in  this  way. 

9th.  An  Approving  Conscience.  This  may  take  the 
form  of  a  self-righteous  spirit,  offensive  to  God  and  most 


THE  CONSCIENCE  IN  ACTUAL  EXERCISE.      219 

unbecoming  on  the  part  of  one  wlio  has  done  evil.  The 
truly  good  man  is  kept  from  this  by  a  sense  of  demerit 
and  that  humility  which  is  one  of  the  foundation  stones 
of  his  excellence.  With  this  accompaniment  self-approval 
may  be  an  allowable,  nay,  a  commendable  frame  of  mind, 
and  may  exercise  a  sustaining,  a  cheering,  and  an  elevat- 
ing influence.  Every  right-minded  man  will  be  afraid  to 
lose  the  approval  of  his  conscience,  for  then  he  has  noth- 
ing to  fall  back  upon  in  the  hour  of  trial,  when  foes  at- 
tack and  friends  forsake  him.  It  is  one  of  the  main 
encouragements  to  a  spirit  of  independence.  The  labor- 
ing man  is  borne  up  by  it  when  he  goes  through  his  daily 
toil,  determined  to  flatter  no  one,  and  to  owe  no  man 
anything. 

"  And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 
For  he  owes  not  any  man." 

It  is  proverbial  that  an  evil  conscience  makes  a  man  a 
coward,  for  he  does  not  know  when  some  one  may  charge 
him  with  his  sin,  which  he  must  either  confess  to  his 
humiliation  or  deny  with  a  lie,  and  he  feels  that  he  has 
no  inward  strength  to  fall  back  upon.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  good  conscience  gives  a  man  courage  to  resist  the 
evil  when  it  is  coming  in  like  a  flood,  and  to  stand  by  a 
good  cause  when  friends,  companions,  the  whole  world 
may  be  against  him.  It  is  especially  comforting  and  sus- 
taining when  a  man  is  falsely  accused  and  multitudes 
are  believing  the  charge.  It  has  in  thousands  of  cases 
strengthened  the  martyr  to  die  not  only  in  patience,  but 
in  triumph. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DEVELOPMENT  AND   GROWTH  OF   THE   CONSCIENCE. 

The  vital,  the  burning,  philosophical  question  of  the 
present  day  relates  to  the  development  of  the  conscience. 
It  divides  itself  into  two.  Is  the  conscience  developed? 
If  it  be  so,  does  this  interfere  with  its  authority? 

I.  Is  the  conscience  developed  ?  If  so,  out  of  what  ? 
Out  of  the  original  elements,  whatever  they  be,  of  which 
matter  is  composed  ?  Out  of  atoms  or  molecules,  or  out 
of  centres  of  mechanical  power,  or  out  of  monads  (of 
Leibnitz)  ?  There  is  really  no  evidence  of  any  of  these 
being  able  to  produce  conscience.  I  suppose  it  may  be 
assumed  that  a  cause  cannot  communicate  what  it  has 
not.  There  is  no  proof  that  a  pound  weight  can  balance 
a  hundred  pounds,  that  a  mechanical  impulse  can  pro- 
duce life,  that  a  mass  of  matter,  say  of  clay  or  ice  or 
gold,  can  produce  a  thought  or  a  sentiment.  I  presume 
there  is  no  moral  power  in  the  original  atom  or  molecule 
or  force  centre,  and  I  do  not  see  how  it  ever  can  give 
what  it  has  not  itself  got.  They  tell  us  that  it  comes  in 
somehow,  they  cannot  tell  how,  by  the  combination  of 
the  original  powers,  and  goes  down  by  heredity.  It  may 
be  allowed  that  heredity  might  hand  it  down  if  it  once 
had  it.  But  if  it  has  not  got  it,  it  cannot  transmit  it. 
Observation  gives  us  no  instance  of  a  combination  of 
material  particles  being  able  to  produce  the  judgment 
and  the  sentiment  which  discerns  between  good  and  evil, 
which  tells  us  that  it  is  wrong  to  tell  a  lie.    On  the  other 


DEVELOPMENT   AND   GROWTH   OF  THE  CONSCIENCE.      221 

hand,  it  may  be  allowed  that  if  once  we  had  a  germ  of 
moral  perception  and  discernment  it  might  be  propa- 
gated. Nobody  imagines  that  material  particles  could 
spring  up  of  themselves,  but,  being  created,  they  can 
work  in  certain  ways  by  the  powers  they  possess.  Dar- 
win demands  three  or  four  germs  created  by  God  before 
he  can  account  for  the  development  of  animals.  We 
continually  observe  a  weak  infant  bodily  and  intellectu- 
ally growing  up  into  a  strong  man.  So,  if  we  once  had 
conscience  as  a  germ,  we  might  conceive  it  growing  and 
expanding. 

II.  Supposing  that  there  is  development  in  conscience, 
the  question  arises.  Is  its  authority,  and  in  particular  its 
supremacy,  thereby  dethroned  ?  Ancients  and  moderns 
have  been  in  the  way  of  appealing  to  its  decisions  as  in- 
fallible. It  is  now  urged  that  it  is  the  product  of  cir- 
cumstances, and  that  its  decisions  are  different  in  different 
positions. 

As  to  whether  development  interferes  with  the  authority 
of  conscience,  this  depends  on  the  nature  of  the  develop- 
ment. If  the  evolution  is  fortuitous  or  fatal,  we  might 
not  be  entitled  to  argue  that  the  product  carries  with  it 
any  weight.  Thus  circumstances  generate  prepossessions 
and  prejudices,  the  prejudices  of  individuals  and  classes, 
of  soldiers,  of  tradesmen,  of  lawyers,  which,  so  far  from 
being  justifiable,  are  to  be  condemned.  So  it  might  be 
with  a  conscience  developed  out  of  positions  and  occur- 
rences. Hereditary  beliefs,  so  far  from  being  always 
right,  are  often  wicked  and  degrading,  —  such  are  the 
superstitions  of  the  heathen,  and  family,  tribal,  and  na- 
tional hatreds.  There  are  cases  in  which  conscience 
seems  to  sanction  weak  and  injurious  customs,  such  as 
the  abstaining  from  foods  which  are  nutritious,  and  re- 
quires us  to  make  harsh  and  unreasonable  services  in 


222  THE  CONSCIENCE. 

the  lacerating  of  the  body,  or  in  carrying  on  destruc- 
tive wars  against  nations  and  creeds. 

But  there  are  cases  in  which  there  may  be  develop- 
ment and  yet  authority.  We  must  here  presuppose 
that  the  conscience  does  now  claim  authority.  It  de- 
clares that  we  ought  to  love  God  and  love  our  neighbor. 
This  sense  of  ought  and  obligation  may  have  been  handed 
down  from  one  generation  to  another.  This  fact  surely 
cannot  render  its  claims  invalid. 

It  is  acknowledged  by  Professor  Huxley  that  develop- 
ment does  not  interfere  with  the  argument  from  design 
in  favor  of  the  existence  of  God.  Herbert  Spencer 
shows  that  development  in  the  geological  ages  makes  for 
happiness  by  increasing  the  field  of  enjoyment  as  living 
creatures  rise  in  the  scale.  And  this  certainly  looks  as 
if  it  were  the  act  of  a  benevolent  being.  It  can  be 
shown  that  the  evolution  we  have  in  nature  contains 
evidence  of  adaptation  of  one  thing  to  another,  of  pur- 
pose and  ends  in  the  promotion  of  the  comforts  of  the 
animal.  Sooner  or  later  there  will  be  a  work  written 
after  the  manner  of  Paley,  exhibiting  instances  of  tele- 
ology in  the  way  in  which  the  various  organs  of  the  body 
have  been  formed  and  made  to  fit  into  each  other.  All 
this  proves  that  evolution  is  a  law  or  work  of  God,  quite 
as  much  so  as  gravitation  or  chemical  affinity  or  vital 
assimilation  is.  Suppose,  then,  that,  as  the  result  of  de- 
velopment, we  have  a  conscience  which  points  to  a  moral 
law,  which  is  of  the  nature  of  a  categorical  imperative, 
enjoining  this  and  forbiding  that,  and  pointing  to  a  God 
guaranteeing  the  whole :  we  must  regard  this  law  as 
authoritative  and  carrying  with  it  the  sanction  of  God. 
It  is  admitted,  on  the  supposition  that  individual  men 
were  created  by  God  with  the  law  in  their  hearts,  that 
this  law  has  claims  upon  our  obedience.     But  its  claims 


DEVELOPMENT    AND   GROWTH   OF   THE    CONSCIENCE.      223 

are  not  annulled  when  it  is  shown  that  conscience  is  the 
result  of  a  long  process,  all  under  the  control  of  God, 
and  evidently  tending  towards  the  production  not  only 
of  happiness,  but  of  morality. 

Put  the  further  supposition  that  there  has  been  in  the 
development  a  germ  of  some  kind  there  at  the  beginning 
or  superimposed  at  a  certain  stage,  we  have  now  an  hy- 
pothesis worthy  of  consideration  and  in  no  way  interfer- 
ing with  the  Divine  authority  of  the  moral  power.  That 
power  has  been  there  all  along,  and  comes  forth  into 
action  in  certain  circumstances,  and  is  liable  to  be  modi- 
fied, to  be  strengthened  or  weakened,  b}^  the  surround- 
ings. Regarding  God  as  producing  the  original  germ, 
guiding  and  guarding  the  evolution  of  it,  we  may  re- 
gard the  conscience  as  the  vicegerent  of  God,  and  speak- 
ing to  us  in  the  name  of  our  Governor  and  Judge. 

The  question  of  the  validity  of  the  moral  power  is 
quite  analogous  to  that  of  the  validity  of  the  intellec- 
tual power.  It  is  quite  certain,  I  think,  that  there  is  an 
evolution  and  a  growth  of  intelligence.  But  this  does 
not  lead  us  to  set  aside  or  distrust  our  intelligence.  The 
intelligence  is  a  cognitive  power,  and  it  perceives  things 
without  and  within  us.  It  grows  with  our  growth,  and 
ever  reveals  more  truth.  The  man  knows  more  than  the 
child,  and  the  savan,  the  philosopher,  and  the  theologian 
knows  more  than  the  uneducated  man.  This  circum- 
stance does  not  lead  us  to  doubt  of  our  understanding. 
Just  as  little  should  the  growth  of  the  moral  power  in 
man  lead  us  to  doubt  of  its  authority.  The  two  are  on 
the  same  footing.  If  the  one  is  to  be  trusted  in  its  own 
field,  that  is,  in  determining  what  is  true  and  what  is 
false,  so  is  the  other  to  be  trusted  in  discerning  between 
good  and  evil.  If  the  power  of  knowing  the  good  is  to 
be  set  aside,  we  must  be  prepared  on  the  same  ground  to 


224  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

abandon  the  mind's  power  of  discovering  truth,  and  we 
shall  be  obliged  to  drop  into  skepticism,  or  at  least 
agnosticism. 

The  conscience  grows  as  all  living  things  do;  but  it 
grows  from  a  germ.  The  faculties  of  the  mind,  like  the 
properties  of  body,  are  all  of  the  nature  of  tendencies. 
Sense-perception,  for  example,  is  such  a  tendency.  It 
does  not  act  till  it  is  called  forth,  and  it  is  called  forth 
when  material  objects  are  presented  it.  It  is  much  the 
same  with  other  mental  capacities.  The  fancy  is  a  seed, 
but  does  not  bud  and  blossom  and  bear  its  rich  fruit 
unless  it  has  knowledge  and  experience  as  its  material 
and  its  nutriment.  There  are  intellectual  capacities  in 
infants  and  in  savages  ;  but  they  need  to  be  called  forth 
and  ripened  by  light  and  by  heat  directed  towards  them. 
It  is  the  same  with  the  moral  power ;  it  is  in  all  men 
native  and  necessary  ;  but  it  is  a  norm  requiring  to  be 
evolved. 

It  grows  as  the  oak  grows.  As  the  tree  needs  earth 
in  which  to  root  itself  and  air  of  which  to  breathe,  so  the 
conscience  needs  a  seat  in  our  mental  nature,  with  a  stim- 
ulus to  make  it  germinate  and  expand.  All  along  it  is 
so  far  swayed  by  its  suiToundings.  Its  health  will  de- 
pend on  the  climate.  When  reared  in  a  bare  soil,  it  will 
be  dwarfish.  When  exposed  to  cold  and  blighting,  it  will 
be  stunted  and  gnarled.  In  a  good  soil  and  a  healthy 
atmosphere,  it  will  be  upright  and  well -formed.  In  par- 
ticular, it  grows  and  spreads  out  with  the  intelligence 
which  enables  it  clearly  to  apprehend  facts  and  to  dis- 
cover the  consequences.  All  this  may  be  admitted,  while 
we  hold  that  the  moral  power  could  not  have  been  pro- 
duced without  a  native  moral  norm  any  more  than  a 
plant  or  animal  could  have  been  produced  without  a 
germ. 


DEVELOPMENT   AND   GROWTH   OF   THE   CONSCIENCE.      225 

From  tliis  account  it  appears  that  the  conscience  is 
liable  to  be  deceived  and  led  astray.  In  particular,  it 
may  be  swayed  by  tlie  desires  and  wishes  of  the  heart ; 
in  short,  by  the  will.  It  is,  as  Butler  so  often  calls  it, 
a  faculty  of  reflection,  and  does  not  perceive  objects 
directly,  as  the  external  senses  and  the  consciousness 
do.  It  is  dependent  so  far  on  the  representation  given 
to  it.  If  that  be  perverted,  the  judgment  of  con- 
science, right  enough  in  regard  to  the  representation, 
may  be  wrong  as  to  the  thing  itself.  On  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  white  thing  we  see  in  the  wood  is  a  ghost, 
we  might  very  properly  be  alarmed  ;  but  we  have  no  fear 
when  we  discover  it  to  be  a  white  sheet.  If  that  idol  is 
a  god,  as  the  man's  ancestors  told  him,  he  does  right  to 
worship  it ;  but  as  the  Christian  knows  it  is  no  god,  he 
feels  under  no  obligation  to  pay  it  any  reverence.  If 
this  farm  is  mine,  as  the  Irish  peasant  argues,  I  am  justi- 
fied in  resisting  all  attempts  to  drive  me  from  it.  He 
sees  this  to  be  wrong  only  when  he  is  convinced  that  the 
property  belongs  to  his  landlord.  Parents  made  their 
children  to  pass  through  the  fire  to  Moloch,  because  they 
thought  it  would  pacify  the  god.  A  friend  of  mine  was 
under  the  delusion  that  God  required  him  to  sacrifice  the 
object  that  was  dearest  to  him,  and  was  about  to  proceed 
in  consequence  to  put  his  wife  to  death ;  he  had  a  correct 
enough  moral  perception,  but  was  under  the  sway  of  a 
deranged  understanding.  Saul  thought  he  ought  to 
crush  the  rising  Christian  sect  because  he  regarded  them 
as  apostates ;  and  he  changed  his  conduct  when  he  saw 
that  they  were  following  the  true  faith.  The  Hindoo 
casts  his  female  child  into  the  Ganges,  and  the  African 
exposes  his  mother  to  perish  by  a  fountain,  as  being  con- 
vinced that  it  is  better  they  should  thus  die  than  be 
exposed  to  a  life  of  hunger  and  privation.     The  Jesuit 


226  THE   CONSCIENCE. 

reckons  himself  justified  in  deceiving  the  enemies  of  the 
Church,  because  of  the  great  good  which  may  thereby  be 
accomplished. 

But  with  all  its  defects  and  mistakes,  the  conscience  is 
indestructible,  quite  as  much  so  as  the  understanding  is. 
In  children  and  in  savages,  it  has  to  occupy  itself  with 
very  insignificant  objects  ;  but  still  it  is  seen  working,  and 
it  is  capable  of  being  developed  by  an  increase  of  intelli- 
gence. Criminals  have  resisted  it,  and  so  blunted  it,  but 
at  times  it  will  deal  its  blows  upon  them  with  tremendous 
force.  Deceived  and  silent  as  to  certain  deeds  of  wicked- 
ness, it  will  show  itself  alive  and  awake  as  to  others.  We 
have  cases  of  robbers  committing  murder  with  little  or 
no  compunction,  but  greatly  distressed  by  the  neglect  to 
perform  certain  superstitious  rites  which  they  regard 
as  binding  on  them.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  men 
very  honest  in  their  transactions  with  one  another,  but 
who  do  not  seem  to  be  humbled  or  distressed  by  the 
neglect  of  the  duties  which  they  owe  to  God. 

It  seems  to  me  that  conscience  is  of  the  very  nature, 
personality,  and  identity  of  the  soul.  Deprive  anj^  one  of 
his  power  of  discerning  good  and  evil,  of  distinguishing 
betw^een  cruelty  and  benevolence,  candor  and  deceit, 
purity  and  impurity,  and  you  have  so  far  stripped  him  of 
his  humanity  quite  as  much  as  if  you  had  shorn  him  of 
the  power  of  distinguishing  between  truth  and  error. 

The  question  arises.  What  is  the  moral  norm  which, 
seated  down  in  the  depth  of  our  nature,  never  changes  ? 
It  may  be  difficult  to  express  this  accurately,  owing  to 
the  mixing  up  of  other  things  with  our  moral  judgments 
and  sentiments.  But  we  perceive  that  there  are  certain 
acts  which  call  the  moral  discernment  into  exercise.  Thus 
we  approve  of  disinterested  love,  and  regard  the  affection 
of  a  mother  for  her  boy  as  a  virtue.     But  there  are  cases 


DEVELOPMENT   AND  GROWTH  OF   THE   CONSCIENCE.      227 

in  which  the  mother  shows  her  love  to  her  son  in  ways 
which  we  disapprove,  as  when  she  indulges  him  in  what 
is  injurious,  or  shows  an  unjust  preference  of  him  over 
other  boys.  This  shows  that  in  moral  good  there  is  not 
only  love,  but  a  law  regulating  love.  Love  ruled  by  law 
thus  seems  to  be  the  quality  in  intelligent  beings  com- 
mended by  the  conscience.  And  the  opposite  of  this,  a 
lawless  love  or  selfishness  or  hatred,  seems  to  be  sin, 
which  is  a  transgression  of  the  law. 


THE  WILL,  OR  OPTATIVE 
POWER. 


THE  WILL,  OR  OPTATIVE   POWER. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  ESSENTIAL  NATURE  OF  WILL. 

It  is  self-evident  that  there  is  such  a  power.  We  are 
conscious  of  it,  in  fact  we  know  it,  —  we  feel  it  working. 
It  is  diiferent  from  all  the  other  faculties  of  the  mind. 
It  has  a  power  in  itself.  A  tempting  proposal  is  made 
to  us :  we  may  obtain  a  large  fortune  by  telling  a  lie. 
Prior  to  any  exercise  of  will  in  such  a  case,  other  powers 
must  operate ;  we  have  to  understand  what  is  proposed. 
The  wealth  has  spread  out  its  allurements  to  the  appe- 
tences, and  the  conscience  may  have  declared  that  there 
is  deceit  and  that  it  is  evil.  But  we  have  now  to  decide 
whether  we  are  or  are  not  to  tell  the  falsehood.  We 
decide  to  follow  the  path  of  integrity,  and  we  reject  the 
proposal.  There  is  now  more  than  the  understanding 
and  the  love  of  money  and  conscience.  With  all  these 
we  might,  in  our  free  will,  have  told  the  lie  and  got 
the  possession.  We  might  have  accepted  ;  but  we  have 
chosen  to  reject,  and  in  doing  so  we  have  exercised  will. 

Let  us  ascertain  what  is  involved.  The  essential  ele- 
ment is  Choice.  Two  courses  are  open  to  us,  and  we 
choose  one  rather  than  the  other.  But  it  is  not  neces- 
sary that  there  should  be  two  courses  or  two  objects. 
One  only  may  be  before  us,  and  we  adopt  it.  In  all 
such  cases,  occurring  every  hour  of  our  waking  existence, 


232  THE  WILL,   OR   OPTATIVE  POWER. 

there  is  an  act  of  a  special,  of  a  peculiar  kind,  different 
in  toto,  as  the  consciousness  testifies,  from  the  action  of 
matter,  different  from  the  exercises  of  understanding,  of 
the  conscience,  or  the  emotions. 

As  will  takes  the  form  of  adoption,  so  it  may  also 
manifest  itself  in  rejection ;  we  scorn  the  proposal  to  tell 
a  falsehood.  Indeed,  in  all  cases  in  which  there  are  two 
or  more  ways  before  us,  we  exercise  both  choice  and 
rejection ;  in  choosing  the  one  we  virtually  set  aside  the 
other,  at  least  in  comparison  with  the  one  preferred. 

It  is  of  special  moment  to  distinguish  the  will  from 
other  principles  of  man's  nature,  particularly  from  the 
emotion  with  which  it  is  often  combined  and  with  which 
it  is  apt  to  be  confounded.  We  have  shown  that  in  all 
emotion  there  is  excitement,  with  attachment  or  repug- 
nance ;  we  look  with  complacency  or  displacency  on  the 
object  of  which  we  have  an  idea.  But  in  will  there  is 
something  more,  something  more  decisive :  we  accept  the 
object  or  event,  or  we  put  it  away  from  us.  When  we 
see  a  fine  picture,  we  cannot  but  admire  it :  this  is  emo- 
tion. But  we  covet  it,  knowing  it  to  belong  to  another, 
and  we  would  appropriate  it  except  for  fear  of  exposure : 
then  we  have  a  wish  regarding  it,  and  it  is  evil. 

Ethical  writers,  in  order  to  save  morality,  have  found 
it  necessary  to  draw  distinctions  of  some  sort  in  regard 
to  the  will.  They  often  distinguish  between  desire  and 
volition,  declaring  that  there  is  nothing  good  or  evil  in 
desire,  while  there  may  be  in  volition.  A  man,  they  say, 
may  not  be  responsible  for  his  desires,  which  may  often 
be  independent  of  his  will  and  even  contrary  to  it.  He 
may  be  said  to  be  praiseworthy  or  blameworthy  when  his 
desires  come  forth  in  acts.  Now,  without  affirming  that 
there  is  no  such  distinction,  or  that  it  is  unimportant, 
I  do  not  regard  it  as  the  essential  one  in  the  matter  of 


THE  ESSENTIAL  NATURE  OF  WILL.  233 

human  responsibility.  Good  and  evil  do  not  consist  pri- 
marily in  outward  deeds ;  they  lie  in  the  heart  or  will. 
There  may  be  evil  in  all  forms  of  covetousness,  in  envy 
and  malice,  even  when  they  do  not  come  forth  into  cor- 
responding acts.  "  Whoso  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust 
after  her  hath  committed  adultery  with  her  already  in  his 
heart."  Our  moral  nature  approves  of  this  maxim.  The 
correct  ethical  statement  is,  wherever  choice  enters,  re- 
sponsibility may  be  involved. 


CHAPTER  II. 

VAEIOUS  FOEMS   OF  VOLUNTARY  ACTS. 

From  an  early  date  distinctions  of  some  kind  were 
drawn  as  to  the  operations  of  the  will.  Thus  Aristotle 
distinguishes,  though  not  very  clearly,  between 

BovXrjo-i^,  choice  of  ends. 

BovXrj,  choice  of  means. 

UpoaipeaL?,  deliberate  preference  of  things  in  our  power. 

The  will  appears  at  first  as  weak  and  infantile.  It 
grows  with  the  growth  of  mind,  and  specially  of  the  in- 
telligence and  character.  It  is  first  in  a  sense  instinc- 
tive; it  may  rise  into  attention,  desire,  wish ;  into  volition, 
deliberate  preference  or  rejection,  obstinacy.  It  may  be 
the  mere  passive  wish  that  makes  no  effort.  It  may  be 
the  mere  moving  of  the  arm  to  ward  off  a  pressing  dan- 
ger. It  may  become  a  purpose  to  gain  far  distant  ends, 
to  remove  evil,  to  avoid  temptation,  to  bear  up  in  the 
midst  of  trouble,  to  contend  with  sin  within  and  corrup- 
tion around  us.  It  may  be  settled  into  what  is  called  a 
strong  will,  continued  for  years  in  the  midst  of  obstacles, 
opposition,  and  suffering,  and  in  the  end  succeeding  or 
making  shipwreck. 

I.  Instinctive  or  Spontaneous  Will,  so  called 
for  want  of  a  more  explicit  phrase.  It  is  entitled  to  be 
regarded  as  will,  for  there  is  a  succession  of  volitions, 
which,  however,  are  so  spontaneous  in  their  nature  that 
they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  anything  voluntary 
in  them ;  there  is  certainly  no  thoughtful  or  deliberate 


VARIOUS   FORMS   OF  VOLUNTARY   ACTS.  235 

choice.  The  most  important  element  is  an  instinctive 
one,  stirring  up  an  impulse  which  prompts  to  a  momen- 
tary, voluntary  act.  It  is  thus  the  infant  soon  learns  to 
cast  off  by  its  hand  a  fly,  or  some  other  offensive  object, 
or  to  seize  an  object  with  a  pleasing  color.  It  is  thus  we 
hasten  to  ward  off  a  blow,  to  prevent  a  fall.  There  is 
momentary  will  in  every  step  we  take  in  walking ;  other- 
wise our  feet  would  not  carry  us  to  the  point  towards 
which  we  would  wish  to  go.  Our  habitual  acts  come 
soon  to  be  of  the  same  nature  as  our  instinctive  ones  (it 
is  probable,  indeed,  that  a  large  portion  of  our  instinc- 
tive actions  are  the  result  of  a  continued  i^t?,  or  habit), 
and  are  raising  up  a  series  of  immoral  acts  of  will.  I 
believe  that  vastly  more  than  half  our  movements  are 
thus  impulsively  voluntary,  half  instinctive  and  half  in- 
tentional. 

II.  Desire.  This  is  not  necessarily  voluntary.  It  may 
be  a  mere  inclination  for  food,  for  rest,  or  for  action  to 
avoid  pain  or  to  catch  pleasure.  All  our  natural  disposi- 
tions tend  to  raise  up  desires  without  any  necessary  in- 
terference of  the  will :  such  are  the  desire  for  society,  for 
esteem,  for  fame,  for  power.  These  all  instigate  to  ac- 
tion, which  needs  will  to  execute  it,  and  then  certainly 
the  process  becomes  voluntary.  Desire  and  volition  thus 
join  in  our  mind  every  waking  hour  of  our  existence. 

In  these  instinctive  acts,  involuntary  or  voluntary,  there 
is  nothing  either  moi'ally  good  or  evil.  They  become 
reprehensible  only  when  we  do  not  keep  them  in  due 
order ;  when  we  allow  them  to  run  to  excess,  or  lead 
us  into  forbidden  courses.  When  we  direct  them  aright, 
when  they  are  made  to  accomplish  good  ends,  they  be- 
come virtuous  and  commendable,  and  our  desires  may 
become  holy  and  elevating. 

III.  Attention,  which  is  an  act  of  the  will.     Here, 


236  THE  WILL,   OR  OPTATIVE  POWER. 

the  mind  is  directed  to  certain  objects  before  it,  and 
as  long  as  it  fixes  itself  upon  them,  it  detains  tbem. 
These  objects  may  be  presented  by  any  of  the  mental 
powers:  by  the  senses,  the  memory,  the  reason,  or  any 
combination.  Such  fixed  contemplation  is  necessar}^  to 
our  being  able  to  form  a  clear  and  correct  apprehen- 
sion of  any  vast  or  complicated  subject.  When  a  num- 
ber and  variety  of  objects  come  before  the  mind  simul- 
taneously or  in  succession,  they  appear  dim  and  scat- 
tered. When  the  eye  is  opened,  it  must  in  ordinary 
circumstances  take  in  a  number  of  them,  with  their 
varied  forms,  colors,  and  distances ;  but  our  apprehension 
of  each  of  them  is  vague  and  confused.  It  is  the  same 
with  the  crowd  of  thoughts  which  troop  into  our  minds 
when  we  consider  some  general  subject ;  it  is  as  when 
we  are  introduced  to  a  large  company,  —  it  is  only  as  we 
single  out  one  after  another  of  the  individuals  that  our 
idea  of  the  whole  and  of  the  parts  becomes  discriminating. 
When  the  attention  is  directed  to  any  one  object,  it  stands 
out  distinctly  from  the  others,  and  then,  by  the  laws  of 
association,  a  whole  host  of  related  objects  gather  around 
it,  and  we  come  the  better  to  know  its  nature.  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  has  declared  that,  if  in  any  point  he  excelled 
others,  it  was  because  he  gave  his  attention  exclusively 
to  the  topic  he  was  studying.  We  have  a  similar  tes- 
timony from  Thomas  Reid,  who  represents  the  Scotch 
school.  Dr.  Chalmers  was  fond  of  representing  Atten- 
tion as  combining  the  intellectual  and  the  moral;  by 
fixing  the  mind,  we  can  make  the  intellectual  moral,  and 
by  neglecting  to  do  so,  we  may  make  it  immoral. 

IV.  Rejection.  What  is  presented  is  repelled. 
Sometimes  this  repulsion  is  altogether  instinctive.  It  is 
merely  turning  away  from  a  repulsive  object,  say  in  taste 
or  smell,  or  when  we  change  our  position  to  avoid  pain, 


VARIOUS  FORMS  OF  VOLUNTARY  ACTS.  237 

or  drive  away  an  annoyance.  But  it  may  become  a  very 
strong  determination  to  oppose  what  is  evil.  It  may 
have  to  resist  the  attractions  of  pleasure,  the  assaults  of 
temptation,  the  tempests  of  passion,  and  desperate  oppo- 
sition. In  this  nature  of  ours,  with  its  perverse  ten- 
dencies, and  in  tliis  world  of  ours,  so  full  of  evil,  the 
resistance  needed  may  require  to  be  very  determined 
and  very  prolonged.  To  be  able  to  say  No  to  plausible 
proposals  is  an  essential  power  in  all  lofty  character. 
A  power  of  resistance  may  give  great  strength  to  the 
character,  though  if  it  is  not  judiciously  guided  it  may 
become  mere  obstinacy.  I  read  the  imprecations  of  the 
Psalms  as  an  expression  of  indignation  against  wicked- 
ness, which  is  an  element  in  all  holy  character. 

V.  Wish.  It  is  of  moment  to  distinguish  between 
our  mere  instinctive  appetences,  desires,  and  aversions 
on  the  one  hand,  and  our  acts  of  choice  on  the  other 
hand.  Wish  is  always  an  act  of  the  will.  B}^  it  we 
may  select  a  thing,  or  at  least  choose  out  a  thing;  or  we 
put  it  away  from  us.  This  may  become  a  \erj  powerful 
sentiment ;  we  may  muse  upon  an  object,  we  may  long 
for  it,  we  may  clasp  it  and  cherish  it.  The  aspirations 
of  the  heart  may  be  among  the  grandest  and  most  in- 
spiring of  our  affections,  elevating  the  soul  from  earth  to 
heaven.  Such  breathings  have  made  the  Psalms  so  uni- 
versally read  by  devout  people.  The  soul  longeth,  even 
fainteth,  to  behold  the  beauty  of  the  Lord. 

VI.  Preference.  This  is  the  Trpoacpecrt?  of  Aristotle, 
regarded  by  him  as  an  essential  element  in  virtue.  Tins 
makes  all  virtue  voluntary,  a  doctrine  which  is  true  only 
when  we  make  it  embrace  wish  ;is  well  as  positive  deci- 
sions of  the  mind.  In  this  higher  form  of  Will  we 
come  to  a  positive  and  decided  determination  :  we  elect 
an  object  or  a  course  of  conduct,  and  in  doing  so  we  have 


238  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE   POWER. 

commonly  to  choose  among  a  number  of  competing  ways 
spreading  out  their  allurements  before  us.  Such  an  act 
decides  thiB  whole  conduct  for  good  or  evil,  and  has  com- 
monly long  influence,  leading  us  promptly  and  peremp- 
torily to  stop  our  ears  to  the  voice  of  the  siren  alluring 
us  to  evil,  and  it  may  be  forming  in  the  end  the  whole 
character,  making  it  firm  and  stable.  All  such  wishes 
and  preferences  are  within  the  heart.  But  they  come 
forth  into  action,  in  which  case  we  have 

VII.  Volition.  This  is  Will  in  action.  Towards  this 
point  all  its  acts  tend,  and  this  is  its  consummation. 
The  child  sees  a  flower  with  a  bright  color  and  seizes  it. 
The  man  perceives  a  more  substantial  object  as  he  re- 
gards it ;  his  eye  is  attracted  by  gold,  capable  of  bringing 
so  many  enjoyments,  and  he  proceeds  to  earn  it,  only,  it 
may  be,  to  find  its  pleasures  as  evanescent  as  the  petals 
of  the  flower.  This  is  simply  a  higher  exercise  of  the 
same  will  power.  Exercised  from  day  to  day  under,  it 
may  be,  strong  native  or  acquired  impulses,  it  produces 
the  man  of  strong  character. 

VIII.  A  Strong  Will.  This  is  a  somewhat  loose 
but  expressive  phrase,  denoting  a  disposition  rather  than 
an  individual  act.  It  is  a  continued  resolution  and  deter- 
mination prompted  by  a  dominant  passion,  such  as  the 
love  of  glory  or  of  power.  It  manifests  itself  in  resist- 
ance to  everything  that  opposes  the  man's  favorite  pro- 
jects. It  would  bear  down  all  obstacles  that  may  come 
in  its  way  ;  it  is  the  special  organ  of  destructiveness  in 
ambitious  men.  It  is  as  often  found  in  weaker  woman 
as  in  stronger  man,  leading  her  to  devise  innumerable 
means  to  accomplish  her  ends  —  to  gain  a  lover,  or  to 
thwart  a  husband.  It  incites  the  youth  to  reach  the 
greatest  height  in  scholarship  or  in  civil  and  military 
pursuits.     As  he  climbs  the  mountain  he  m.ay  have  to 


^■EESITY 

VARIOUS   FORMS   OF  VOLUNTARY  ACTSST^^"^^- 

mount  rocks  and  cross  ravines;  but  he  will  not  stay  till 
he  reaches  the  summit  to  obtain  the  commanding  view, 
or  it  may  be  to  find  himself  in  mist  and  cloud.  A  pro- 
montory which  for  a  thousand  years  has  defied  wind  and 
waves  is  a  symbol  of  such  a  character. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  WELL  ASSOCIATING   ITSELF  WITH  OTHER   MENTAL 

ACTS. 

The  Will  may  be  associated  with  every  other  mental 
faculty.  And  wherever  it  goes  it  may  carry  good  or  evil 
and  consequent  responsibility. 

The  /Se?ises  may  be  influenced  by  it.  It  is  well  known 
that  there  are  inferences  of  the  understanding  mingling 
with  many  of  our  perceptions  of  external  objects.  In 
our  mature  life  we  feel  as  if  we  instinctively  know  the 
distances  of  objects  as  certainly  as  their  shape  and  color. 
But  it  has  been  generally  admitted  ever  since  the  days  of 
Berkeley  that  the  measurement  of  distance  by  the  eye  is 
an  acquired  and  not  an  original  endowment.  It  has  been 
ascertained  that  the  knowledge  of  distance  by  the  ear  is 
also  an  acquisition  of  experience.  But  in  most  cases 
there  is  need  of  more  or  less  attention  in  order  to  the 
mind  adding  the  acquired  to  its  instinctive  knowledge. 
Indeed,  physiological  research  shows  that  there  is  need 
of  a  concurrence  of  the  will  in  most  of  the  healthy  exer- 
cises of  the  senses.  Without  attention  the  whole  impres- 
sion on  the  mind  is  like  the  shadow  of  a  passing  cloud 
upon  a  lake,  not  ruffling  the  surface  at  the  time,  and 
speedily  passing  away.  The  objects  before  the  eye  in 
the  room  in  which  we  are  accustomed  to  sit,  to  work  or 
to  study,  must  in  a  sense  be  perceived  by  the  eye,  as 
must  by  the  ear  the  ticking  and  striking  of  the  clock, 
and  the  beating  of  the  wind  upon  the  window  ;  but  how 


THE  WILL   ASSOCIATED  WITH   OTHER  MENTAL  ACTS.     241 

dim  and  fleeting  is  the  whole  scene  unless  there  be  some- 
thing to  fix  the  mind  upon  the  object !  In  sight  there  is 
need  of  a  setting  of  the  eye  in  order  to  distinct  vision, 
and  this  is  to  some  extent  dependent  on  the  will.  Every 
one  knows  that  in  the  use  of  the  stereoscope  the  two 
images  may  not  be  blended  into  a  solid  till  the  mind  has 
taken  in  the  figure.  The  facile  use  and  improvement 
of  the  senses  depends  to  a  large  extent  upon  the  atten^ 
tion  to  the  objects.  The  sportsman  will  notice  a  hare  oi 
a  wildfowl  where  the  unpracticed  eye  sees  only  the  bare 
ground  with  its  herbage.  The  Indian  will  place  his  ear 
on  the  ground  and  discover  signs  of  the  approach  of  a 
hostile  band  many  miles  away,  when  the  ordinary  ear 
can  hear  no  sounds  whatever.  In  this  way  we  account 
for  the  finer  perception  of  the  other  senses  when  the 
person  has  been  deprived  of  one  of  his  senses.  As  the 
result  of  practice,  the  blind  man  has  commonly  a  much 
more  acute  and  accurate  touch  than  others.  There  are 
authenticated  cases  of  his  being  able  to  discern  differ- 
ences of  colors  by  the  touch,  either  by  certain  rough- 
nesses on  the  surface  or  by  the  actinic  or  heat  action  of 
different  colors. 

"We  ascend  a  height  and  look  abroad  on  an  extended 
scene  in  a  loose  and  dreamy  mood  of  mind ;  how  vague 
and  imperfect  is  our  apprehension  of  the  whole!  It  is 
not  till  the  attention  is  fixed  on  one  part  after  another 
that  the  hills  rise  up  to  their  proper  height,  and  the 
plains  extend  into  their  full  sweep,  and  the  sea  is  distin- 
guished from  the  land,  and  the  cattle  dot  over  tlie  field, 
and  the  grain  waves  in  luxuriance,  and  the  wood  shows 
its  deep  shade,  and.  the  village  appears  so  cheerful,  and 
the  old  tower  looks  as  if  it  were  set  to  guard  the  whole. 
Of  a  like  nature  is  the  influence  of  attention.  On  every 
perception  it  lends  distinctness  to  the  dim,  individuality 


242  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE   POWER. 

to  the  general,  and  brings  into  clear  light  and  exposes  to 
the  view  what  would  otherwise  have  lain  in  the  shadow 
of  obscurity. 

Self-COXSCIOUSNESS  is  equally  swayed  by  attention. 
I  believe  that  consciousness  is  a  concomitant  of  all  our 
intelligent  acts,  of  our  ideas,  our  feelings,  our  resolu- 
tions. But,  as  our  thoughts  and  emotions  flow  on,  we 
commonly  pay  little  attention  to  them  ;  indeed,  we  are 
commonly  so  interested  in  the  objects  we  think  about 
that  we  pay  little  or  no  regard  to  what  we  think  about 
them.  In  fact,  it  is  because  we  are  so  concerned  about 
the  objects  that  the  current  of  ideas  flows  on.  But  we 
can  detain  any  state  of  mind  and  ascertain  its  nature, 
can  determine  whether  it  is  a  thought,  a  fancy,  or  a  feel- 
ing. Consciousness  when  thus  exercised  may  be  called 
Reflection,  in  which  the  mind  bends  back  and  looks  in 
upon  itself  and  its  actings.  In  detaining  the  thought 
it  detains  all  that  is  associated  with  the  thought,  such  as 
remembrances,  judgments,  imaginations,  joys  and  sor- 
rows, hopes  and  fears,  elevations  and  humiliations,  bright 
prospects  and  dark,  which  pursue  each  other  like  shadows 
and  sunshine  on  the  mountain  side.  The  widow  has  her 
grief  ever  renewed  and  a  sadness  given  to  the  counte- 
nance by  her  husband  being  called  up  and  dwelt  upon. 
The  Christian  has  his  character  moulded  by  looking 
unto  Jesus,  the  author  and  finisher  of  his  faith,  and 
beholding  his  glory  as  in  a  glass  is  changed  into  the 
same  image. 

The  Reproductrt:  Powers  are  very  much  swayed 
by  the  will.     Thus  the  mind  has  a  power  of  — 

Retention.  This  is  very  largely  determined  by  the 
amount  of  energy  we  have  bestowed  on  the  thought. 
We  seem  to  be  conscious  at  the  moment  of  everj'thing 
that  passes  through  the  mind  while  it  passes;   but  then 


THE  WILL   ASSOCIATED   WITH  OTHER  MENTAL  ACTS.     243 

it  is  apt  to  pass  away  forever  unless  it  is  stamped,  as  it 
were,  on  the  soul  bj-^  the  force  exerted  upon  it,  more  par- 
ticularly by  a  resolution  to  detain  it  in  order  to  examine 
it  and  to  think  about  it.  We  can  thus  fix  what  we 
choose  in  the  mind,  in  order  to  its  being  recalled  when  it 
pleases  us,  or  possibly  when  it  may  be  very  inconvenient. 
For,  alas !  we  may  retain  in  this  way  that  which  is  to 
trouble  us,  and  which  will  insist  on  intruding,  in  spite  of 
our  efforts,  to  tempt  or  to  torment  us.  By  cherishing 
vain,  proud,  lustful,  or  malignant  feelings,  which  should 
be  instantly  banished,  we  may  be  forming  a  correspond- 
ing character  to  abide  with  us  through  life.  The  way- 
ward feelings  and  the  prejudices  which  now  carr^^  us 
along  at  their  pleasure  are  the  result  of  a  long  train  of 
voluntary  associations  which  we  have  hugged  and  fondled, 
till  now  they  refuse  to  depart  when  we  command  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  to  lay  up  in  this  way  a 
number  of  pleasant  and  profitable  memories,  which  may 
ever  be  adding  to  our  happiness  and  prompting  us  to 
what  is  good,  and  so  help  to  train  and  discipline  the 
mind  and  make  the  present  determine  the  future. 

The  Association  of  Ideas  is  to  a  large  extent  de- 
pendent on  the  energy  bestowed  on  an  idea,  which  energy 
commonly  takes  the  form  of  Attention.  There  are  laws 
of  Association,  which  are  called  secondary  by  Thomas 
Brown  ;  laws  of  Preference,  by  Hamilton.  These  deter- 
mine, among  a  number  of  ideas  which  might  come  up 
according  to  the  primary  laws  of  contiguity  and  correla- 
tion, which  shall  come  up  at  any  given  time.  We  have 
seen  and  conversed  with,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  four 
people  in  one  room ;  next  time  I  enter  the  room  I  think 
of  one  of  them,  but  not  of  the  others.  The  reason  is,  I 
had  a  long  talk  with  him  and  became  interested  in  him, 
and  now  he  and  the  conversation  come  up  afresh.     Now 


244  THE   WILL,   OR   OPTATIVE  POWER. 

the  main  Secondary  Law  is  that  those  ideas  come  up 
most  frequently  on  which  we  have  bestowed  the  largest 
amount  of  force  of  mind,  and  this  may  be  intellect,  feel- 
ing, or  will.  Thus,  if  we  wish  to  give  strength  to  an 
idea,  we  may  secure  this  by  thinking  about  it,  and  show- 
ing attention  to  it,  and  inviting  it  to  visit  us  once  and 
again.  Such  an  idea  will  become  the  centre  of  a  cluster 
gathered  around  it,  and,  as  it  comes  up,  will  bring  its 
companions  with  it.  Each  member  will  be  associated 
with  other  thoughts  or  feelings  with  which  it  has  been 
conjoined,  or  with  which  it  has  some  correlation,  and 
thus  we  can  command  a  vast  field  of  thought.  It  is 
thus  that,  when  our  mind  is  so  trained  we  can,  on  sitting 
down  to  compose  a  paper,  insure  a  great  flow  of  ob- 
servations, illustrations,  arguments,  all  tending  towards 
the  point  which  we  wish  to  reach.  Thus  the  orator  can 
command  a  long  train  of  thoughts,  phrases,  fancies,  flat- 
teries, warnings,  denunciations,  all  tending  to  persuade 
his  audience  to  take  a  particular  step. 

Memory  is  powerfully  swayed  by  the  will  from  the 
causes  already  mentioned.  Every  student  of  philosophy 
knows  the  distinction  as  drawn  by  Aristotle  between 
[ivrjaL's  and  dva/jti/T/crc?,  which  may  be  translated  Memory 
on  the  one  hand,  and  Reminiscence  or  Recollection  on 
the  other.  It  consists  essentially  in  this:  that  in  the  one 
there  is  only  the  spontaneous  flow  of  the  laws  of  asso- 
ciation left  to  themselves,  whereas  in  the  other  there 
is  the  interposition  of  the  will;  we  seek  out,  we  hunt 
for,  to  use  an  expression  of  Aristotle's,  what  we  know 
that  we  want.  In  both  there  is  only,  after  all,  the  oper- 
ations of  the  laws  of  association ;  but  in  the  one  we  allow 
the  train  to  carry  us  whither  it  will;  whereas  in  the 
other  we  detain  present  thought,  and  turn  it  round  and 
round  till  it  brings  up  that  which  we  are  in  search  of,  or 


THE   WILL   ASSOCIATED   WITH   OTHER  MENTAL   ACTS.     245 

drives  away  the  unpleasant  or  evil  thought  which  we 
would  banish.  By  being  constantly  stimulated,  guided, 
and  restrained,  the  thoughts  will  become  controlled  and 
regulated,  receiving  what  is  profitable  and  rejecting 
what  is  deleterious. 

The  Imagination,  like  the  trained  horse,  may  be  made 
to  carry  us  fleetly  to  the  point  we  would  reach,  and  yet 
be  thoroughly  under  control.  Dugald  Stewart  accounts 
for  the  vagaries,  the  extravagances,  the  inconsistencies 
of  our  dreams  by  supposing  that  in  them  the  stream  of 
thought  flows  on  uncontrolled,  whereas  we  always  re- 
strain the  wanderings  of  the  fancy  in  our  waking  mo- 
ments. Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  theory,  which 
I  believe  contains  a  truth,  but  not  the  whole  truth,  it  is 
certain  that  we  can  control  the  imagination,  as  we  gov- 
ern the  horse  by  whip  and  spur  and  bridle.  Our  imagina- 
tions, like  our  other  mental  operations,  are  very  much 
determined  by  the  force  which  has  been  thrown  into  the 
original  ideas  from  which  they  are  drawn.  The  painter, 
by  fondly  dwelling  on  natural  scenes,  or  on  striking  his- 
torical incidents,  can  fill  his  mind  with  images  which  will 
come  up  of  their  own  accord,  and  then  he  can  shape  them 
into  the  forms  which  he  wishes  them  to  take. 

The  Co:mparing,  Judging,  and  Reasoning  Power. 
It  is  proverbial  that  the  heart  sways  the  head,  that  "  the 
wish  is  father  of  the  thought."  This  means  that  the 
will  with  its  volitions  and  its  wishes  is  apt  to  sway 
the  intellect  in  its  judgments  and  in  its  reasonings,  which 
I  may  remark  are  just  judgments,  in  which  we  compare 
two  terms  by  means  of  a  third.  It  is  not  difficult  to  ac- 
count for  this  by  the  laws  whose  operations  we  have  been 
tracing.  In  all  judgment  there  is  comparison  of  objects, 
two  or  more,  of  objects  apprehended,  of  objects  repre- 
sented.    Now  the  apprehension  may  be  a  misapprehen- 


246  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE  POWER. 

sion,  the  representation  a  misrepresentation,  and  the  judg- 
ment pronounced  will  in  consequence  be  a  perverted  one. 
It  is  at  this  point  that  the  will  interposes  for  good  or  for 
evil.  It  may  bring  the  objects  before  the  mind  as  they 
are,  and  present  them  in  a  clear  light,  and  the  judgment 
pronounced  will  in  consequence  be  a  sound  one.  Or, 
acting  as  an  interested  or  passionate  partisan,  it  exhibits 
an  imperfect,  a  partial,  an  exaggerated  or  distorted  case 
to  the  judge,  who  pronounces  a  wrong  sentence.  This  I 
believe  to  be  the  main  cause  of  the  errors  into  which  we 
fall;  they  spring  not  from  the  wrong  judgments  of  the 
understanding,  but  from  the  prejudices  of  the  heart,  pre- 
senting things  not  as  thej^  are  in  themselves,  but  as  we 
would  like  them  to  appear.  Vague  resemblances  care- 
lessly observed  are  regarded  as  identities.  Inadequate 
analyses,  imperfect  estimates,  specious  analogies,  and  plau- 
sible hypothetical  causes  are  suggested  and  mislead  the 
judgment.  On  the  other  hand,  a  candid  disposition  and 
a  truth-loving  spirit  are  the  best  securities  for  reaching 
the  truth  in  all  matters,  speculative  and  practical.  With- 
out these,  the  intellect  will  always  be  more  or  less  blinded, 
inconsistent  in  its  decisions  and  crooked  in  its  walks. 
With  these,  it  will  sooner  or  later  attain  certainty  and  as- 
surance in  all  matters  bearing  on  our  faith  and  our  creed 
for  this  life  and  the  life  to  come. 

The  Conscience,  of  all  the  mental  powers,  is  the  one 
most  likely  to  be  swayed  by  the  moral  rudder.  The 
rationale  of  this  can  be  given.  The  conscience  is  a  joint 
faculty,  and  in  one  of  its  potencies  is  a  reflex  power. 
Bishop  Butler,  bringing  his  moral  theory  into  congruity 
with  Locke's  intellectual  theory,  called  it  "  a  faculty  of 
reflection."  It  originates  nothing,  starts  nothing,  but 
simply  looks  in  upon,  and  judges  what  is  presented.  But 
the  deed  may  be  presented  in  too  favorable  a  light,  or  an 


THE  WILL   ASSOCIATED   WITH   OTHER   MENTAL  ACTS.      247 

injuriously  unfavorable  light,  probably  under  a  flattering 
aspect  so  far  as  our  own  acts  are  concerned,  and  possibly 
under  a  depreciatory  light  as  respects  the  deeds  of  others. 
It  is  thus  we  are  to  account  for  those  perversions  of  con- 
science which  have  so  puzzled  ethical  writers.  They  are 
to  be  ascribed  not  so  much  to  the  conscience  as  an  arbiter 
as  to  the  wishes  of  the  heart  which  is  bent  on  what  grat- 
ifies selfishness  or  strong  passion,  and  for  this  purpose 
furnishes  false  pictures.  V.ery  often  the  action  of  which 
we  have  to  judge  is  a  complex  one,  with  intricate  rela- 
tions, and  only  those  favoring  a  certain  end  are  brought 
into  view.  A  good  line  of  action  which  we  are  not  will- 
ing to  perform  is  represented  as  leading  to  inconven- 
iences, and  we  turn  away  from  it.  An  evil  course  of  con- 
duct which  we  are  bent  on  following  is  seen  as  leading 
to  pleasure,  and  the  moral  monitor  utters  no  admonition. 
Doubts  may  arise  as  to  the  soundness  of  our  moral  con- 
dition, but  these  being  humbling  and  painful  are  driven 
away  with  all  convenient  speed.  Hence  the  difficulty  of 
getting  a  favorite  sin  condemned.  Charge  it  at  any  one 
time  or  point,  and  it  instantly  takes  the  name  and  credit 
of  some  virtue  to  which  it  bears  a  partial  resemblance. 
Cowardice  says  it  is  prudence,  cunning  claims  to  be  wis- 
dom, lust  calls  itself  love. 

From  the  general  cause  now  referred  to  have  proceeded, 
if  I  do  not  mistake,  those  irregularities  and  apparent  in- 
consistencies in  the  decisions  of  conscience  which  so  puz- 
zled and  confounded  ethical  and  metaphysical  inquirers. 
The  approval  of  deceit  when  successful  among  the  ancient 
Spartans,  of  the  widow  burning  herself  at  the  funeral 
pile  of  her  husband  in  India,  of  the  murder  of  female 
children  in  the  South  Sea  islands,  and  of  the  exposure  of 
the  aged  to  starvation  in  some  parts  of  Africa,  all  origi- 
nated in  false  views  of  the  heroism  of  the  youth  who 


248  THE  WILL,    OR  OPTATIVE  POWER. 

succeeds  in  compassing  a  difficult  end,  of  the  devotedness 
of  the  widow  who  declines  living  after  her  husband  has 
died,  of  the  helplessness  of  children  and  the  old  when 
there  is  no  provision  for  their  sustenance. 

The  Emotions.  The  analysis  of  the  Emotions  in 
this  treatise  shows  how  the  will  sways  the  feelings.  At 
the  basis  of  all  emotion  there  is  an  idea  of  something  ap- 
petible,  of  something  to  be  desired  or  avoided.  Now,  by 
means  of  this  idea,  we  can  so  far  command  our  feelings. 
We  can  detain  the  idea  that  gratifies  us,  say  by  elevating 
us,  or  by  flattering  our  vanity.  By  calling  up  something 
else  we  can  banish  what  runs  counter  to  our  inclination, 
or  lowers  us  in  our  own  esteem.  In  one  sense  feeling  is 
not  under  our  command ;  it  will  flow  out  when  it  pleases 
and  as  it  pleases.  There  are  times  when  we  feel  our 
hearts  to  be  cold  as  ice  and  hard  as  a  rock,  when  we 
should  expect  and  wish  them  to  be  full  of  life  and  love. 
Again,  there  are  seasons  when  our  emotions  flow  out  in 
torrents,  when  we  make  the  utmost  efforts  to  restrain 
them.  But  still  we  can  indirectly  guide  and  directly  suit 
ourselves  to  it.  We  may  not  be  able  to  command  com- 
passion to  flow  at  every  time,  or  indeed  at  any  time,  but 
we  can  enter  the  house  of  mourning,  and  visit  the  widow 
and  fatherless  in  their  affliction,  and  our  hearts,  if  hearts 
we  have,  will  be  moved  and  melted.  We  may  be  angry, 
and  think  we  do  right  to  be  angry,  with  some  one  who  we 
think  has  acted  an  unworthy  part  towards  us,  but  when 
we  find  him  in  deep  trouble  our  heart  relents,  and  we 
hasten  to  his  rescue. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  WILL  AS  EXERCISED   IN   THE  MORAL  VIRTUES. 

Socrates  did  not  give  the  will  a  place  in  virtue, 
which  he  delighted  to  define  as  an  act  of  wisdom  fore- 
seeing consequences.  He  represented  vice  as  folly,  and 
a  favorite  maxim  with  him  was  ouScts  iKoiv  Ka/co?.  Some 
think  that  vice  enters  as  an  element  into  the  more  com- 
plex account  of  virtue  by  Plato.  But  will,  Trpodipea-is, 
was  first  formally  introduced  into  the  definition  of  virtue 
by  Aristotle. 

It  is  acknowledged  by  all  our  higher  ethical  writers 
that  in  order  to  constitute  a  deed  virtuous  there  must  be 
more  in  it  than  merely  a  becoming  outward  act.  In 
order  to  make  an  act  truly  good  the  motive  must  be 
good.  The  payment  of  a  debt  is  not  regarded  as  a  virtu- 
ous act  if  it  is  done  through  mere  selfishness  or  a  fear  of 
punishment.  Courage,  the  old  Roman  virtus^  is  a  good 
act  when  employed  in  defending  what  is  recognized  as  a 
just  cause,  or  to  repel  what  is  evil.  We  value  a  kind 
act  when  we  feel  that  it  proceeds  from  kindness,  and  not 
from  hypocrisy.  A  just  deed  is  commended  when  it  is 
done  because  it  is  just.  Temperance,  that  is  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  lusts  and  passions,  is  a  virtue  when  it 
is  cultivated  in  order  to  avoid  the  evils  of  ungoverned 
licentiousness.  Aristotle  is  right  in  giving  voluntary 
preference  an  important  place  in  all  these  cardinal  vir- 
tues of  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WELL   IN  THE   CHRISTIAN  GRACES. 

If  there  be  will  in  the  heathen  virtues,  mucli  more 
must  there  be  so  in  the  Christian  graces.  As  the  mind 
is  capable  of  them,  psychology  should  unfold  them  to  the 
view,  and  this  whether  they  be  religious  or  irreligious. 

Faith  is  opposed  to  sense ;  it  is  always  in  something 
not  now  before  us,  in  something  unseen.  It  may  consist 
in  the  mere  assent  of  the  mind  to  a  proposition,  as  when 
we  believe  that  gravitation  is  a  property  of  matter,  or 
that  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow.  Here  there  may  be  no 
exercise  of  will. 

But  there  are  faiths  in  which  there  is  an  exercise  of 
wish  or  will.  Faith  is  the  phrase  employed  to  designate 
the  mind's  acceptance  of  religious  truth.  In  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  faith  is  the  grace  by  which  we  receive 
Christ  and  rest  upon  him.  Even  in  religion  there  may 
be  a  faith  which  is  merelj'  speculative,  as  it  is  often 
called,  to  distinguish  it  from  a  living  or  a  heart  faith. 
Theologians  have  not  always  succeeded  in  drawing  the 
distinction  between  this  and  a  living  faith.  The  differ- 
ence, as  it  appears  to  me,  consists  essentially  in  the  one 
being  an  assent  of  the  understanding,  whereas  the  other 
contains  an  additional  act  of  will,  a  concurrence  of  the 
will.  True  religious  faith  is  therefore  the  consent  of  the 
will  to  the  assent  of  the  intellect.  It  is  always  of  the 
nature  of  trust  or  confidence,  the  phrases  applied  to  it 
in  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures.     With  the  Christian  it 


WILL   IN   THE   CHRISTIAN   GRACES.  251 

is  faith  or  trust  in  tlie  revelation  which  God  has  been 
pleased  to  make  of  his  will  in  his  works,  but  more  fully 
in  his  Word  ;  it  is  specially  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  as  s^t 
forth  in  the  Word.  This  faith  carries  with  it  the  power 
of  the  understanding  and  the  will,  both  of  the  head  and 
of  the  heart.  As  being  an  act  of  the  will  joined  on  to 
judgment,  it  cai-ries  with  it  a  practical  power.  Such 
faith  must  always  lead  to  works,  and,  if  the  faith  is 
pure,  to  good  works.     It  worketh,  and  worketh  by  love. 

Repentance.  Here  there  is  an  exercise  of  conscience, 
there  is  a  sense  of  sin.  We  condemn  certain  affections 
which  we  have  cherished  and  acts  that  we  have  per- 
formed, and  we  grieve  over  these.  But  there  is  vastly 
more  in  penitence  than  regrets.  The  essence  of  it  is 
what  the  New  Testament  calls  a^ravoia,  a  change  of  mind 
or  intent.  Hitherto  we  have  been  walking  in  one  way, 
and  now  we  turn  and  walk  in  another  way  ;  and  in  all 
this  there  is  choice  and  a  decision  —  a  purpose  of  new 
obedience. 

The  same  is  true  of  all  the  other  graces.  In  Christian 
nope  we  look  for  things  that  we  have  chosen  as  being 
good.  In  Patience  we  submit  to  what  God  has  been 
pleased  to  lay  upon  us ;  we  acknowledge  ib  to  be  good, 
and  we  fall  in  with  it.  In  Humility,  in  Poverty  of  Spirit, 
we  accept  the  lowly  view  which  we  have  been  led  to 
take  of  ourselves,  when  we  compare  our  character  and 
conduct  with  the  law  of  God.  In  Meekness  we  accord 
with  the  account  of  ourselves  which  God  has  given  in 
his  Word,  and  submit  to  the  will  and  the  dispensations 
of  God. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  WILL   AS   AN   ELEMENT   IN  LOVE. 

I  HAVE  referred  to  love  in  treating  of  emotion.  But 
there  is  more  in  love,  considered  as  a  grace,  than  mere 
feeling.     Love  manifests  itself  in  two  forms. 

The  Love  of  Complacency.  We  delight  in  the  object 
or  person  beloved.  It  is  thus  that  the  mother  clasps  her 
infant  to  her  bosom ;  thus  that  the  sister  interests  her- 
self in  every  movement  of  her  little  brother  ;  thus  that 
the  young  man  seeks  the  society  of  his  companions,  and 
is  grieved  when  he  is  separated  from  them ;  thus  that  the 
father,  saying  little  but  feeling  much,  follows  the  career 
of  his  son  as  he  contends  in  the  rivalries  of  the  world ; 
thus  that  throughout  our  lives,  our  hearts,  if  hearts  we 
have,  cling  round  the  tried  friends  of  our  youth ;  thus 
that  the  wife  would  leave  this  world  with  her  last  look 
on  her  husband ;  thus  that  the  father  would  depart  with 
his  sons  and  his  daughters  around  his  couch.  There  is 
"a  last  look  which  love  remembers:"  that  given,  for 
instance,  when  the  ship  moves  away  with  the  dear  friend 
on  it,  and  when  the  soul  leaves  the  earth  to  wing  its  way 
to  heaven.  Love  looks  out  for  the  persons  beloved.  The 
mother  speedily  discovers  her  son  in  that  crowd.  The 
blacksmith 

"  Hears  his  daughter's  voice 
Singing  in  the  village  choir." 

The  Love  of  Benevolence.  This  is  a  higher  form  of 
love.     In  this  we  not  only  delight  in  the  contemplation 


THE  WILL  AS  AN  ELEMENT   IN   LOVE.  253 

and  society  of  the  persons  beloved ;  we  wish  well  to  them, 
we  wish  thein  all  that  is  good.  "  Therefore  all  things 
whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye 
even  so  to  them :  for  this  is  the  law  and  the  prophets." 
We  will  oblige  them,  if  we  can;  we  will  serve  them,  if 
in  our  power  ;  we  watch  for  opportunities  of  promoting 
their  welfare ;  we  are  ready  to  make  sacrifices  for  their 
good.  This  love  is  ready  to  flow  forth  towards  relatives 
and  friends,  towards  neighbors  and  companions,  towards 
all  with  whom  we  come  in  contact ;  it  will  go  out  to- 
wards the  whole  family  of  mankind.  We  are  ready  to 
increase  their  happiness,  and  in  the  highest  exercises  of 
the  affection  to  raise  them  in  the  scale  of  being  and  to 
exalt  them  morally  and  spiritually. 

Now,  this  second  is  the  higher  aspect  of  loye  ;  the  other 
belongs,  in  man,  to  a  lower  department  of  his  nature. 
It  is  an  exercise  merely  of  emotional  clinging,  and  may 
contain  nothing  virtuous  or  holy  ;  it  may  be  merely  like 
the  attachment  of  a  dog  to  its  master.  The  love  of  be- 
nevolence is  of  a  higher  kind  ;  we  wish  to  do  good,  we 
strive  to  do  good  to  those  whom  we  love.  The  one  is 
like  a  genial  heat  in  a  closed  apartment ;  the  other  is 
like  an  open  fire  radiating  heat  on  all  around  ;  the  one 
is  like  a  lake  reflecting  heaven  on  its  bosom ;  the  other 
is  a  fountain  welling  up  and  carrying  with  it  a  refresh- 
ing influence.  It  flows  out  in  a  great  number  and  variety 
of  forms:  in  compassion,  in  pity,  in  tenderness,  in  long- 
suffering  and  patience.  "  Charity  suffereth  long,  and  is 
kind  ;  charity  envieth  not;  charity  vaunteth  not  itself,  is 
not  puffed  up,  doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly,  seeketh 
not  her  own,  is  not  easily  provoked,  thinketh  no  evil  ; 
rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity,  but  rejoiceth  in  the  truth ; 
beareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things, 
endureth  all  things." 


254,  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE   POWER. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  How  can  this  benevolence  be 
exhibited  by  us  towards  God,  who  is  independent  of  us, 
and  needs  not  our  aid  ?  The  answer  is,  We  identify  our- 
selves with  Him,  and  strive  to  promote  his  glory  and 
the  causes  in  which  He  is  interested.  We  make  it  our 
prayer  :  Thy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth 
as  it  is  in  heaven. 

These  two  forms  of  love,  while  they  may  be  distin- 
guished, should  never  be  separated.  But  in  fact  they 
have  often  been  divorced,  the  one  from  the  other.  How 
often  do  men  show  the  love  of  complacency  without  the 
love  of  benevolence  ?  They  delight  in  the  society  of, 
and  they  receive  gratification  from,  persons  whom  they 
do  not  seek  to  benefit.  They  do  worse:  they  injure 
those  to  whom  they  are  attached,  as  the  ivy  is  apt  to 
destroy  the  tree  which  it  embraces  and  adorns.  They  do 
so  by  indulging,  by  flattering,  by  tempting  them.  The 
doting  mother  spoils  the  child  whom  she  so  fondles. 
The  seducer  ruins  the  unhappy  one  whom  he  clasps 
in  his  foul  embrace.  Tliere  is  a  love  that  is  not  lovely. 
It  is  in  fact  a  refined  form  of  selfishness.  In  our  grati- 
fication we  lay  hold  of,  and  hug  to  our  bosoms,  objects 
which  we  only  corrupt.  I  apprehend  that  much  of 
human  sinfulness  consists  in  tearing  asunder  what  should 
be  kept  united,  in  selfishly  turning  persons  to  our  uses 
only  to  tempt  and  desti'oy  them.  It  has  often  been 
observed  that  the  w^orst  things  are  the  perversion  of 
good  things.  Abused  intellectual  gifts  make  the  dan- 
gerous villain.  Abused  sensibilities  make  the  accom- 
plished tempter.  Abused  affections  gender  the  keenest 
of  all  miseries. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   INFLUENCE   OF  THE   WILL  ON  CHAKACTEE. 

The  character  of  man  depends  on  three  different  cir- 
cumstances :  on  Heredity,  on  Surroundings,  and  on  his 
Will. 

1.  Every  one  starts  with  certain  mental  tendencies. 
This  used  to  be  called  his  nature,  which  it  certainly  is ; 
it  is  now  traced  to  heredity  as  its  cause.  It  has  come 
down  through  father  and  mother  from  an  ancestry.  It 
is  apt  to  appear  in  early  childhood,  and  it  runs  on  to  old 
age.  In  many  cases  this  inherited  character  is  very 
marked.  We  discover  that  the  person  belongs  to  a  cer- 
tain race  or  a  certain  family,  not  only  by  his  features, 
but  still  more  clearly  by  his  mental  qualities  ;  by  his 
public  or  his  craven  spirit ;  by  his  prodigality  or  his 
petiuriousness ;  by  his  courage,  or  by  his  cunning. 

2.  Most  men  are  liable  to  be  swayed  by  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  are  placed.  There  are  some  who 
act  merely  as  others  act.  Others  have  their  shape  given 
them,  like  pebbles  on  the  shore,  by  the  rough  seas  in 
which  they  have  been  rolled.  But  is  every  man's  whole 
character  determined  solely  by  such  agencies? 

3.  Man  has  a  Will  lying  beneath  and  behind  all  these, 
ready  to  act  at  any  time  and  to  counteract  and  control 
them,  even  as  the  igneous  matter  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  has  consolidated,  upturned,  or  lowered  the  orderly 
strata,  and  given  their  forms  to  our  hills  and  vales,  to 
our  continents  and  islands. 


256  THE  WILL,   OR  OPTATIVE  POWER. 

The  will  should  restrain  the  impulses  which  are  incon- 
venient, which  degrade  their  possessors  and  lead  them  into 
trouble  and  into  sin.  It  may  and  should  enter  into  a 
holy  war  with  these,  and  check  every  actual  appearance 
of  them.  This  is  the  temperantia  to  which  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  attached  so  much  importance ;  the  restrain- 
ing of  the  lusts  and  evil  passions,  and  subjecting  them  to 
law.  By  watching  and  resisting  these  evil  propensities 
they  may  not  be  eradicated,  but  they  will  be  regulated  ; 
instead  of  being  masters  they  will  become  servants, 
allowed  to  act  only  by  permission  of  their  superior. 

But  these  restraints  will  produce  only  a  negative  char- 
acter, hard  as  the  case  of  a  shellfish.  The  will  may  also 
cherish  all  that  is  good  within,  and  getting  good  from 
without,  especially  from  above,  may  seek  out  fields  for 
the  employment  of  the  faculties  and  affections,  and  de- 
vote them  to  benevolent  ends.  I  hold  that  in  this  way 
a  man  may  form  his  own  character,  morally,  with 
intents  and  ends  and  practical  working.  I  believe  that 
every  one  who  sets  himself  earnestly  to  accomplish  this 
may  to  a  great  extent  succeed.  True,  there  will  be  occa- 
sional failures  when  he  forgets  to  be  watcliful,  but  the 
wise  man  will  thereby  come  to  know  himself  better,  and 
be  ready  to  avoid  temptations,  and  lay  on  restraints  at 
the  proper  time. 

All  this  is  perfectly  consistent  with  family  peculiarities, 
the  influence  of  outward  circumstances  being  allowed  to 
remain.  One  does  not  like  to  see  every  man  aiming  to 
be  the  same  as  every  other,  or  indeed  as  any  other  man. 
We  are  pleased  to  see  tribal  and  household  traits ;  to  see 
a  Frenchman  act  like  a  Frenchman,  and  a  Scotchman  as 
a  Scotchman,  and  an  American  as  an  American  ;  and  to 
notice  the  effects  of  a  man's  training,  and  of  the  posi- 
tions, favorable  or  difficult,  in  which  he  has  been  placed, 


THE   INFLUENCE    OF   THE   WILL   ON   CHARACTER.        257 

just  as  we  like  to  see  the  healthy  youth  full  of  life,  and 
the  soldier  not  concealing  the  scars  of  the  wounds  he  has 
received  in  battle.  An  outburst  of  nature  always  warms 
our  heart  towards  the  individual  from  whom  it  comes. 
But  let  the  whole  be  subordinated  to  the  control  of  a  will 
guided  by  principle. 

These  personalities  break  up  the  uniformity,  like  that 
of  Chinese  society,  produced  by  sameness  of  position  and 
by  heredity.  They  introduce  into  society  a  new  and  a 
fresh  life.  We  have  now  persons  who  act  not  necessarily 
as  others  do,  but  who  strike  out  new  paths.  Taking 
their  own  way,  they  walk  with  all  who  are  going  in  the 
same  direction;  but  if  their  road  strikes  off  they  will 
follow  it,  even  though  they  should  have  to  proceed  alone. 
Such  independent  men  furnish  a  wholesome  element  in 
society;  like  living  streams  flowing  into  the  lake,  they 
keep  it  from  becoming  a  stagnant  marsh.  They  supply 
pleasant  heights  scattered  over  what  would  otherwise  be 
wearisome  plains.  These  free  wills  constitute  the  only 
spontaneous  generation  in  our  world.  They  introduce 
not  only  new  varieties,  but  new  species,  which  enter  into 
the  struggle  for  existence  and  prevail,  constituting  the 
progressive  power  in  development,  and  tending  to  raise 
our  world  upward  to  a  higher  plane. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   WILL   HAS   FKEEDOM. 

EvEKY  faculty  of  the  mind  has  its  own  peculiarities, 
and  it  is  the  business  of  those  who  would  make  them- 
selves acquainted  with  it  not  to  judge  of  it  by  other 
powers,  but  to  look  at  it  as  it  is  in  itself  and  as  it  acts. 
The  will,  in  particulai',  has  properties  which  belong  to  no 
other  mental  operation.  The  actings  of  the  other  powers 
are  undoubtedly  regulated  by  the  dominant  law  of  cause 
and  effect.  But  is  it  so  with  the  exercises  of  the  will? 
Are  all  our  volitions  the  necessary  result  of  antecedents 
without  and  within  ? 

I  am  very  unwilling  to  throw  myself  into  this  conflict 
of  the  Hges.  I  do  not  profess  to  be  able  to  clear  up  every 
difficulty,  and  to  answer  every  objection.  But  I  see  cer- 
tain truths  to  which  I  cling  most  resolutely. 

First,  there  is  a  certain  feeling,  or  rather  conviction, 
attached  to  every  voluntary  act,  but  which  is  not  atten- 
dant on  the  actings  of  any  other  powers.  We  express  this 
by  saying  that  we  are  free.  We  are  free  to  go  to  the  right 
side  or  to  go  to  the  left,  in  walking  round  a  table.  We 
are  free  to  sit  in  tiie  house  or  to  go  outside.  We  are  free 
to  receive  or  refuse  a  visitor.  We  are  free  to  accept  a  gift 
offered  or  to  decline  it.  We  are  free  to  take  a  bribe  or 
to  reject  it.  We  are  free  to  tell  the  truth  or  to  tell  a  lie. 
In  all  these  cases  I  know  that  while  I  have  taken  the  one 
course  I  might  have  taken  the  other.  It  is  not  so  with 
the  exercise  of  the  other  powers.      If  a  man  is  before 


THE   WILL  HAS   FREEDOM.  259 

me  in  clear  day,  I  cannot  be  made  to  believe  that  he  is 
not  there  :  but  we  may,  as  we  please,  do  him  a  kind  or 
an  unkind  deed.  We  speak  harshly  to  him  ;  but  we  are 
conscious  that  we  might  have  spoken  pleasantly.  If  I 
receive  ten  pounds,  and  again  other  ten  pounds,  I  know 
that  I  have  received  twenty,  and  tliere  is  no  choice  left 
me ;  but  I  know  also  that  I  may  spend  this  money  in 
paying  my  debts  or  on  sinful  pleasures,  and  here  there 
are  purpose  and  preference. 

But  is  this  choice  of  mine  determined  by  ca  ises  acting 
above  the  will  and  independent  of  the  will  ?  i  reply  that 
there  is  no  proof  that  it  is  so.  It  is  often  said  that  the 
will  is  always  swayed  by  motives ;  in  fact  by  the  strong- 
est motive.  But  the  language  is  ambiguous.  It  may 
be  a  mere  truism,  that  what  sways  the  will  does  sway 
the  will,  for  by  my  motive  is  simply  meant  what  sways 
the  will.  Or  it  may  mean  what  is  not  proven,  what  I 
believe  not  to  be  true.  By  motive  may  be  meant  a 
power  or  powers  out  of  the  will  acting  independently 
of  it.  I  hold  that  in  all  motive  there  is  a  concurrence, 
or  rather  a  consent  of  the  will.  Till  this  is  given,  there 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  a  motive;  there  is  simply  in- 
centive or  temptation.  The  man,  it  is  said,  was  swayed 
b}'  the  love  of  money  in  doing  a  dishonest  act,  and  it  is 
affirnied  that  the  love  of  money  was  the  motive.  But 
over  many  the  love  of  money  has  no  power,  or  no  such 
power.  The  power  is  given  to  it  as  a  motive  by  the  w  ill, 
by  a  long  succession  of  acts,  it  may  be  ci^eating  an  appe- 
tence, and,  above  all,  by  a  present  act,  clinging  to  the 
money. 

We  must  distinguish,  in  the  motive,  that  which  is  in- 
dependent of  the  will  and  that  which  has  the  I'oncurrence 
of  the  will.  For  the  former  we  are  not  responsiUle,  al- 
ways excepting  so  far  as  we  may  have  producd  \i  l>y 


260  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE  POWER. 

previous  voluntary  acts.  But  many  of  our  acts,  no  longer 
voluntary,  are  the  result  of  acquired  habits  formed 
by  the  will.  A  man  has  for  years  cherished  malignity 
towards  one  who  has  offended  him,  and  on  meeting  him 
is  tempted  to  inflict  a  blow,  which  kills  him.  Now  here 
there  is  causation,  not  only  in  the  blow,  but  in  the  temper 
from  which  it  proceeded.  But  the  temper  has  been 
caused  by  repeated  acts  of  the  will.  And  for  all  this 
the  person  is  responsible  first  and  last.  The  blow  may 
be  the  consummation  and  the  worst  act,  but  the  others 
were  bad  in  themselves,  and  specially  in  this  that  they  led 
to  the  murder.  The  drunkenness  fallen  into  unexpect- 
edly at  the  social  party  is  the  visible  sin,  but  it  was  the 
outcome  of  the  tippling  for  months  or  years.  He  who 
sows  the  poisonous  seed  may  be  more  criminal  than  he 
who  eats  the  fruit. 

The  appointment  whereby  objects  act  according  to 
their  nature  is  the  deed  of  God.  So  far  as  man  does 
not  join  in  with  it  he  is  not  responsible ;  but  so  far  as 
he  consents  and  concurs  he  makes  the  deed  his  own. 
Whoever  else  may  be  to  blame  for  it,  he  also  is  to  blame. 
The  drinks  are  intoxicating,  according  to  a  law  of  nature, 
but  so  far  as  he  takes  them  he  is  chargeable  for  them 
and  the  consequences.  When  he  consents  to  an  evil  deed, 
when  he  opposes  a  good  proposal,  when  he  rejects  a 
truth,  he  makes  the  deed  his  own,  and  is  accountable 
for  it,  and  cannot  roll  his  own  blame  on  another,  even 
though  that  other  be  also  to  blame. 

So  far  all  seems  to  me  to  be  clear.  DiflBculties  may 
be  started  as  to  the  consistency  of  God's  causation  with 
man's  freedom.  But  the  clearing  of  these  perplexities 
lies  with  the  higher  Metaphysics  rather  than  with  an 
Inductive  Science,  whose  office  it  is  to  unfold  facts. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   WILL  THE   SEAT  OF   RESPONSIBILITY. 

By  this  I  mean  that  man  is  responsible  for  his  volun- 
tary and  for  his  voluntary  acts  exclusively.  For  instance, 
there  is  nothing  either  virtuous  or  vicious  in  the  exercise 
of  mere  intelligence.  I  speak  of  mere  intelligence,  for, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  voluntary  power  may  associate  itself 
with  anyone  exercise  of  the  intellectual  powers  for  which, 
in  that  case,  we  are  responsible.  But  speaking  of  under- 
standing not  exercised  with  will,  but  following  the  con- 
stitutional laws  which  God  has  planted  in  the  mind,  I 
cannot  see  that  it  is  either  virtuous  or  vicious.  There 
is  nothing  morally  commendable  or  the  opposite  in  the 
operation  of  perception,  of  memory,  or  imagination,  or  the 
faculties  which  perceive  resemblances,  observe  causes  or 
other  relations.  That  I  see  the  trees  bare  in  winter  and 
covered  with  leaves  in  summer  ;  that  I  remember  to-day 
what  I  saw  yesterday  ;  that  when  I  see  a  house  burning 
I  infer  it  must  have  been  kindled,  —  in  all  this  there  is, 
there  can  be,  nothing  either  of  virtue  or  vice.  This  will, 
I  think,  be  acknowledged  by  all.  But  I  am  inclined  to 
go  a  step  farther,  and  to  hold  that  moral  good  and  evil 
do  not  lie,  at  least  directly  and  immediately,  in  the  pos- 
session or  operation  of  conscience  or  the  flow  of  instinc- 
tive feeling.  I  observed,  when  treating  of  the  conscience, 
that  it  ii  upon  voluntary  acts  that  it  pronounces  its  judg- 
ments, declaring  that  they  are  good  or  that  they  are  evil. 
Virtue  and  vice  do  not  consist  in  the  possession  of  a 


262  THE   WILL,    OR   OPTATIVE   POWER. 

conscience,  but  in  that  at  which  the  conscience  looks, 
and  of  which  it  approves  or  disapproves,  in  a  holy  or 
unholy  will.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  a  person  pos- 
sessed of  mere  emotion  could,  in  any  circumstances,  be 
regarded  as  responsible.  It  is  when  the  element  of  will, 
the  optative,  the  freedom  of  choice,  is  working,  that  we 
declare  man  to  be  a  responsible  agent. 

But  in  n:iaking  will  the  seat  of  responsibility  I  give  it 
a  larger  place  than  most  philosophic  and  ethical  writers 
do  ;  I  make  its  essence  to  be  choice  or  the  opposite  of 
choice,  rejection  ;  and  I  believe  that  there  is  this  ele- 
ment not  merely  in  volition  or  the  final  determination  to 
act,  but  in  other  steps  which  may  never  reach  the  length 
of  outward  acts.  Under  will  I  include  not  merely  the 
volition  or  determination,  but  wishes,  desires,  and  the 
opposite,  voluntai'y  aversions  and  antipathies.  This 
gives  the  will  a  wide  range,  but  not  wider,  I  believe, 
than  the  place  and  consequent  power  which  it  has  in  the 
human  constitution.  Accountability  is  as  wide  as  the 
will,  and  embraces  all  tendencies  to  good  or  evil  cre- 
ated by  voluntary  acts  on  our  part.  The  drunkard  is 
responsible  not  only  for  his  individual  acts  of  drinking, 
but  for  the  habit  which  he  has  formed,  and  for  all  the 
iniquities  of  profanity,  quarreling,  or  licentiousness  which 
he  may  commit  in  the  state  of  intoxication.  The  preju- 
diced skeptic  will  have  to  render  an  account  not  only  of 
his  rejection  of  evidence,  but  that  hardness  and  obsti- 
nacy which  have  been  gendered,  and  which  render  him 
incapable  of  listening  to  truth  with  candor.  In  this  way 
responsibility,  though  applicable  primarily  to  acts  of  will, 
may  through  them  reach  every  part  of  man's  nature  and 
conduct. 

While  wish  and  volition  are  both  acts  of  will,  they 
differ  in  their  influence.    Wish  may  reach  over  ourselves 


THE  WILL   THE   SEAT   OF   RESPONSIBILITY.  263 

only,  but  volition  may  have  an  effect  on  many  others, 
directly  or  indirectly,  at  this  present  time  and  forward 
into  a  prolonged  future.  It  is  said  that  in  moving  his 
finger  a  man  starts  a  force  which  may  take  the  round  of 
the  universe;  it  is  certain  that,  in  performing  a  particu- 
lar act  or  in  uttering  a  word,  good  or  bad,  he  may  put  in 
motion  a  moral  potency  which  may  reach  over  widely 
scattered  nations,  and  go  down  through  many  genera- 
tions. Who  can  estimate  the  influence  exercised  over 
thought  and  character  by  the  words  uttered  by  such  as 
Socrates  or  by  the  greater  than  Socrates?  Deeds  have 
produced  yet  greater  effects,  such  as  the  battles  of  patri- 
ots, the  sufferings  of  martyrs,  and  above  all  the  death 
which  has  been  the  life  to  so  many. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IDEAS   GIVEN  BY  THE  MOTIVE  POWEES. 

In  Volume  First  it  has  been  shown  how  the  different 
Cognitive  Powers  give  us  each  a  new  idea.  The  senses 
give  us  Extended  Space  and  Resisting  Energy.  Self- 
consciousness  reveals  Self  and  Personality.  The  two, 
the  outer  and  inner,  senses  make  known  Substance. 
The  Memory  furnishes  the  Idea  of  Time.  The  Imagi- 
nation in  its  widening  power  genders  such  an  idea  of  the 
Infinite  as  the  mind  of  man  can  hold.  The  comparative 
powers  show  us  various  Relations,  such  as  that  of  Per- 
sonal Identity,  of  Composition,  of  Classes,  of  Space  and 
Time,  of  Proportion,  Activity,  and  Causation. 

The  Motive  Powers  also  furnish  us  each  with  an  idea. 
The  Conscience  shows  us  Moral  Good  and  Evil,  with 
their  annexes  Merit  and  Demerit,  Sin,  Desert,  Reward, 
and  Penalties.  The  Emotions  disclose  to  us  the  Lovely 
and  the  Unlovely,  with  their  colors,  shades,  hues,  and 
tints,  attractive  and  repulsive,  specially  the  Beautiful,  the 
Picturesque,  the  Ludicrous,  the  Sublime.  The  Will,  as 
it  has  freedom,  so  it  imparts  the  idea  of  Freedom  in  its 
various  forms  of  Wish,  Attention,  Rejection,  Preference, 
Resolution,  Volition. 

The  capacity  to  form  such  lofty  ideas  distinguishes 
mind  from  matter,  man  from  the  brute,  and  shows  that 
man  is  fashioned  after  the  likeness  of  God.  All  the  rays 
of  light  shining  on  earth  proceed  from  the  Fountain  of 
Lights  in  the  heavens. 


CHAPTER  XL 

CONCLUSION.  —  man's   KEL-IGIOUS  TENDENCIES. 

Man  is  commonly  represented  as  a  religious  animal. 
Certainly  he  has  some  sort  of  religious  instincts  or 
inclinations.  If  this  be  so,  and  he  exhibits  them  so 
universally,  it  is  the  business  of  psychology  to  expose 
them  to  the  view  and  unfold  their  elements. 

It  is  clear  to  me  that  this  characteristic  of  man  is  not 
a  simple  faculty,  like  the  memory  or  the  conscience.  It  is 
complexity  vrith  various  composites,  and  varying  vrith 
the  elements  involved.  There  are  motives,  there  are 
capacities  which  prompt  to  religious  ideas  and  feelings, 
often  very  crude,  in  all  men. 

All  the  stronger  capacities  and  cravings  of  our  nature, 
in  seeking  a  foundation,  go  down  deeper  than  the  crust 
of  our  earth.  All  the  higher  mount  into  a  sphere  above 
our  earth  and  atmosphere.  All  the  streams  which  we 
see  flowing  on  are  believed  to  rise  in  a  fountain  and  go 
on  to  an  ocean.  We  may  have  very  obscure  ideas  as  to 
where  the  fountain  and  what  the  ocean  is. 

Causation  about  the  deepest  intellectual  principle  in 
our  nature,  and  acting  without  cessation,  goes  out  beyond 
the  tangible  and  visible.  The  manifest  effects,  that  is 
new  things  or  changes  in  old  things,  lead  the  mind  to  a 
cause  which  is  seen  itself  to  be  an  effect  leading  on  to  a 
higher  cause  till  we  reach  the  Uncaused.  The  law  of 
cause  and   effect   is   not   satisfied   till   it   comes  to  this 

independent  substance  and  calls  in  a  god. 

V 


266  THE  WILL,   OR  OPTATIVE   POWER. 

The  conscience,  which  is  the  most  potent  principle  in 
our  moral  nature,  imperatively  says  that  we  should  do 
this  and  not  do  that,  is  a  law  in  the  heart,  and  points 
to  a  power  above  itself  which  we  are  required  to  obey. 
When  we  become  aware  that  we  have  not  obeyed  it,  we 
have  a  fear  of  one  to  condemn  us,  and  it  may  be  punish 
us. 

The  order,  the  beauty,  and  beneficence  of  nature,  made 
up  of  a  number  of  scattered  powers,  point  to  One  who 
has  arranged  them  all.  More  powerful,  there  are  events 
which  look  like  interpositions  of  a  higher  power  to  favor 
or  to  frustrate  us.  There  are  times  when  men  feel  that 
God's  thunders  are  rolling  over  their  heads  and  that 
his  lightnings  are  ready  to  strike  them,  and  they  are 
prompted  to  fall  down  and  cry,  "  O  God,  we  thank 
thee  !  "  "  O  God,  deliver  us  !  " 

We  cling  to  the  belief  that  all  does  not  die  when  the 
body  dies,  and  that  there  may  be  a  world  waiting  to 
receive  us.  Our  love  for  our  friends  who  loved  us 
prompts  us  to  think  that  the  souls  of  our  fathers  and 
mothers,  sisters  and  brothers,  have  not  died  with  their 
bodies,  and  that  they  may  still  feel  an  interest  in  us,  as 
we  have  certainly  a  service  to  perform  towards  them. 
This  last  circumstance  seems  to  be  regarded  by  Mr. 
Spencer  as  the  main  power  in  keeping  alive  the  belief  in 
another  world.  It  is  not  the  chief  one;  but  affection 
makes  it  an  influential  one. 

So  much  on  the  one  side.  Man  naturally  believes  in 
some  sort  of  god  and  in  a  world  to  come.  But  it  is 
equally  true  that  he  takes  narrow,  one-sided,  perverted, 
often  grotesque  views  on  these  subjects.  Religion  in 
the  minds  of  the  great  body  of  mankind  appears  in  the 
form  of  superstition.  So,  instead  of  God  making  man, 
man  makes  God  after  his  own  image,  with  human  pas- 


man's  religious  tendencies.  267 

sions,  prejudices,  and  lusts;  and  he  fashions  his  God  as 
the  heathen  does  his  idol  —  of  gold  or  silver,  of  wood  or 
clay.  The  possession  of  the  instincts  of  which  we  have 
been  spi-aking  does  not  m;;ke  a  man  truly  religious ;  he 
is  made  so  by  the  use  to  which  he  turns  them.  The  kind 
of  God  is  determined  by  the  inclinations  to  which  he 
yields,  and  this  goes  down  by  heredity.  With  the 
African  he  is  a  rain-sender.  With  those  who  look  ex- 
clusively to  his  power  he  is  Baal,  the  fire-god.  With  the 
lustful  the  being  worshiped  is  Venus  or  Astarte.  With 
the  conscience-stricken  he  speaks  in  the  thunder  and 
strikes  with  the  lightning. 

Paul's  account  is  the  only  theory  that  explains  the 
whole  facts  (Rom.  i.  20,  21).  On  the  one  hand  "  The 
invisible  things  of  Him  from  the  creation  of  tlie  world 
are  clearl}'-  seen,  being  understood  by  the  things  that 
are  made,  even  his  eternal  power  and  Godhead."  On 
the  other  hand,  "  When  they  knew  Go  1,  they  glorified 
him  not  as  God,  neither  weve  thankful,"  "and  changed 
the  gloi-y  of  the  uncorruptible  God  into  an  image  made 
like  to  corruptible  man,  and  to  birds,  and  four-footed 
beasts,  and  creeping  things."  The  tendency  is  still  the 
same.  With  certain  physicists  he  is  a  mere  piece  of 
mechanism.  With  some  sentimentalists  he  is  mere  feel- 
ing.    With  pantheists  he  is  tho  order  of  the  universe. 

It  is  the  office  of  pure  religion,  natural  and  revealed, 
to  widen  this  narrowness  and  straighten  this  crooked- 
ness, and  to  clothe  God  with  full  perfections:  "  God  is 
a  Spirit,"  "  God  is  Light,"  "  God  is  Love,"  and  to  com- 
bine these  in  one  as  the  colors  do  in  the  sunbeam. 


PSYCHOLOGY. 

The  Cognitive  Powers. 
By  JAMES  McCOSH,  D.  D.,  LL  D.,  Litt  D. 

president  of  Princeton  College;   Author  of   '* Intuitions  of  the  Mind,"  "Laws  of 
Discursive  Thought,"  ''Emotions,"  "'Philosophic  Series,"  etc. 

One  Vol  ,  12mo.   $1.50. 


,■■'  Application  for  examination  copies  and  correspondence  in  regard  to  terms  for 
introduction  are  requested  from  teachers  desiring  to  stlect  a  text-book  i/i  mental 
science. 


CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S    SONS.    Publishers, 
743-745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


This  work  is  offered  by  Dr.  McCosh  as  the  result  of  thirty-four 
years  spent  in  teaching  psychology. 

The  author  has  naturally  put  the  conclusions  of  his  think- 
ing into  the  form  of  a  text-book,  but  he  has  by  no  means  im- 
parted to  it  that  quality  of  dulness  which  is  generally  regarded 
as  in  some  sense  essential  in  a  book  of  this  character.  On  the 
contrary,  he  has  treated  the  difficult,  and  at  times,  obscure, 
topics  which  belong  to  the  department  of  psychology  with  chai"- 
acteristic  clearness,  conciseness,  and  strong  individuality. 

His  analyses  of  the  operations  of  the  senses  and  of  their  rela- 
tion to  the  intellectual  processes  are  singularly  clear  and  intelli- 
gible. He  devotes  considerable  space  to  a  discussion  of  sense 
perception,  illustrating  his  theme  with  appropriate  cuts,  and 
discussing  it  with  fulness  from  the  physiological  side.  A  third 
of  the  book  is  devoted  to  the  reproductive  or  representative 
powers,  in  which  such  subjects  as  the  recalling  power,  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  the  power  of  composition,  etc.,  are  described,  while 
the  book  concludes  with  a  full  discussion  of  the  comparative 
powers. 

The  author's  intention  is  to  add  to  the  present  volume  another 


on  the  Motive  Powers  of  the  Mind,  including  the  Conscience, 
Emotions  and  Will. 

Such  a  work  abreast  of  the  times  and  introducing  more  of  the 
relation  between  physiology  and  psychology  than  is  to  be  found 
in  the  older  treatises  is  an  important  contribution  to  a  department 
which  attracts  a  constantly  increasing  number  of  students.  It 
has  already  been  introduced  into  a  large  number  of  colleges, 
academies,  normal  and  high  schools. 


From  S.  L.  Caldwell,  late  President  of  Vassar  College. 

"  I  have  read  the  book  with  much  interest.  It  is  what  was  to  have  been  ex- 
pected frnni  the  afiility  and  long  experience  o  '  the  author.  'J  he  style  is  clear  and 
simple  ;  the  matter  is  well  distribu  ,ed  ;  it  well  covers  the  ground  usually  taught 
in  such  text-books,  and  I  i-m  sure  any  teacher  would  find  it  a  helpful  guide  in  his 
classes.  The  philosophical  opinion  of  the  venerable  auihor  are  well  known  and 
are  here  lucidly  stated.  The  Fre-ident  has  long  been  a  successful  teacher  and 
knows  how  to  make  a  useful  text-book." 

From  0.  Cone,  President  of  Biichtel  College,  Akron,  O. 

"  In  examining  the  Psychology  of  the  Cognitive  Powers  by  Dr.  McCosh  I  have 
been  most  favorably  impressed  by  the  strength  and  ability  with  which  the  subject 
is  treated  aad  especially  by  the  skillful  adaptation  of  the  work  to  the  needs  of 
student*." 

From  W.  H.  H.  Adams,  President  of  Illinois  Wesleyan  University. 

"  For  the  past  two  months  I  have  been  teaching  the  senior  class  of  this  Insti- 
tution Ur.  Mci'osh's  new  work  on  Psychology.  I  have  never  had  a  class  in 
Psychology  that  became  so  quickly  interested  in  a  text  on  that  subject.  'J  he  style 
of  the  author  is  remarkably  clear,  concise  and  forcible,  and  at  once  arrests  the 
attention  and  holds  the  interest  of  a  student  to  the  subject.  As  a  text-book  it  is 
a  work  of  rare  value  "  (October  2M.) 

From  D.  J.  Waller,  Jr.,  Principal  of  State  Kormal  School,  Bloomsburg,  Pa. 

"  The  qualities  in  the  book  that  led  me  to  introduce  it  are  :  1st.  That  it  is  by  a 
recognized  authority  upon  the  subject,  one  who  perhaps  in  this  department  has 
no  living  superior.  Si  That  he  i.-*  aclofr  and  eiiiphaticrea  ist.  3d.  That  the  style 
is  not  difficult  for  beginners.  4th.  Thar  the  book  was  neither  too  large  nor  too 
small  for  our  purpose.  5th.  That  the  discussion  of  the  subject  is  fre-h,  intro- 
ducing more  of  the  relation  between  Physiology  and  Psychology  than  is  found  in 
the  older  books,  thus  bringing  it  abreast  of  current  thought  upon  the  subject." 

From  Charles  Martin,  Principal  of  Young  Ladies'  Institute,  St.  Joseph,  3Io. 

"I  am  plersed  with  the  plan  and  method  of  treatment.  I  have  in  use 's  Men- 
tal Science,  but  uiy  class  com  plain  of  its  abstruse  style  and  if  on  further  examination 
of  l>r.  Mc  osh's  I  continue  to  be  pleased,  as  1  thin  <  i  shall,  I  will  propose  a  change 
to  the  class  (Sepfember28t/i).  Having  exa'uined  Or.  McCosh's  Psychology  I  have 
concluded  to  change  my  text-book,  and  introduce  McCosh.  lam  much  pleased 
with  its  arrangement  and  treatment  of  the  subject ;  its  style  is  clear  and  its  illus- 
trations are  very  satisfactory  (.October  5th). 

From  Washington  Catlett,  Principal  of  Cape  Fear  Academy,  Wilmington,  N.  C. 

"  I  find  it  admirably  adapted  for  school  work,  being  conservative  In  its  treat- 
ment as  well  as  aiitaionistic  to  materialism  and  scepticism,  and  clear  in  its 
statements ;  hence  quite  suitable  for  young  men  as  a  text-book." 


3 

From  Professor  WUltar.i  De  W.  Hyde  of  Bowdoin  College  in  the  Andover  Itevieu,. 

"The  book  is  written  in  a  clear  and  simple  style;  it  breathes  a  sweet  and 
Winning  spirit ;  and  it  is  inspired  by  a  uuble  purpose,  In  these  respects  it  is  a 
model  of  what  a  text-bouk  should  be" 

From  the  New  Princeton  Review. 

"As  a  text-book,  there  is  no  other  book  that  can  compare  with  it.  It  is  not  , 
mere  compend  of  psyt^hiiioKical  doctrines,  but  the  matured  system  of  a  maatei 
who  has  triven  to  his  subject  the  best  years  of  his  life.  The  book  is  especially  rich 
in  critical  notes  and  historical  summaries  of  the  points  of  recent  investigations  in 
physiological  psychology  and  other  fields  of  psychical  research." 

From  the  Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  This  work  will  be  the  crowninp  literary  labor  of  the  learned  author,  as  it  will 
be  the  ripened  fruit  of  a  life-Ions;  study  and  of  thirty-four  years  of  teaching  in  this 

branch  of  science We  need  only  SHy  that  this  psychology  is  kept  pingularly 

clear  from  a  j^nori  metaphysics,  and  is  H  strictly  scientific  exposition:  tliKt  it  hus 
all  the  author's  charms  of  lucitlity  in  thought  and  style,  and  of  freedom  from 
needles-*  technicalities;  and  that  it  is  illustrated  by  experiment  and  observation 
BO  as  to  be  always  interesting,  and  even  at  times  racy  and  refreshing  reading,  and 
is  SO  practically  put  as  to  be  an  incomparable  text-book  on  the  subject." 

From  The  Independent. 

"It  is  surprising  that  the  author  should  have  been  able  to  compress  wh'it  he 
has  to  sa'^  into  the  ciompass  of  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  pages.  Doubtless 
his  experience  in  the  lec^ture-room  has  shown  him  the  importam-e  of  not  over^ 
loading  the  mind  of  beginners  with  masses  of  details,  and  he  has  learned  to  content 
himself  with  bringing  out  clearly  a  fevv  lundamental,truths,  leaving  his  pupils  to 
build  for  themselves  upon  this  basis." 

From  The  Christian  Union. 

"Dr.  McCosh's 'Psychology '  is  one  of  the  best  text-books  to  be  put  in  the 
hands  of  college  students  that  has  appeared  of  late  years.  As  the  author  says,  t  he 
best  book  is  not  the  one  that  does  the  thinking  for  the  student,  bu*;  the  one 
that  sets  him  to  thinking.  The  present  volume  is  one  of  the  latter  class.  Wliile 
it  has  enough  of  the  positive  didactic  statement  in  it  to  prevent  the  student  from 
feeling  that  he  is  in  a  hopeless  sea  (-f  contradictory  opinions,  it  still  leaves  so  many 
questions  sufflf^iently  open,  and  suggests  lines  of  thought  in  so  many  directions, 
that  there  is  little  danger  of  a  text-book  like  this  degenerating  into  adry  catechism 
in  the  hands  of  any  teacher." 

From  the  New  York  Observer, 

"  The  volume  need  not  be  restricted  to  class  instruction,  but  will  be  fotinj 
useful  and  interesting  to  any  intelligent  reader.  Indeed,  there  are  very  few  young 
persons  who  would  not  find  it  eminently  to  their  advantage  to  read  and  re-read 
the  chapter  on  the  use  and  abuse  of  the  Imagination." 

From  the  Boston  Journal  of  Education. 

"Dr.  McCosh  has  certainly  made  a  remarkable  text-book,— one  that  will  beneflt 

the  student-world  by  widening  the  itifluence  of  this  great  teacher  Students 

traineil  vsfith  such  a  text-book  can  but  niitke  keener  men  and  women,  wha'ever 
ther  life-work  may  be  ;  while  those  who  are  to  make  teaching  their  f)rofession. 
whether  now  in  the  ranks  or  in  preparation  therefor,  will  find  it  a  remarkable 
tonic." 

From  the  New  York  School  Journal. 

"Throughout  the  work  we  are  led  by  no  intricate  reasoning  to  unsatisfactory 
conclusions.  It  is  a  rare  success  in  the  bright,  attractive  way  in  which  a  subject 
Is  presented.  One  forgets  he  is  reading  inductive  psychology,  so  cl  mr  is  the  style, 
ftnd  so  impressive  the  ethics," 


REALISTIC  PHILOSOPHY. 

Defended  in  a  Philosophic  Series. 
By  JAMES    McCOSH,   D.  D.,   LL  D. 

VOL.  L,  EXPOSITORY.      VOL.  IL,   HISTORICAL   AND 

CRITICAL. 

2  Vols.  12mo.     Each,  $1.50. 


The  two  volumes  illustrate  in  the  hi!,fhest  degree  two  kinds  of  excellence  —  the 
merit  of  masterly  statement  and  of  acute  criiieism.  Truth  is  made  simple,  error 
is  easil}'  detected.  .  .  .  We  mean  it  is  a  compliment  to  the  distinguished 
Princeton  President,  when  we  commend  his  recent  philoso])liical  works  to  the 
beginner  as  well  as  to  the  mature  thinker.  Thiir  clarity  and  simplicity  of  thought, 
their  plainness  of  diction  and  richness  of  illustiatiou,  make  them  a  royal  road  to 
philosophical  learning.  —  The  Evangelist. 

Dr.  McCosh  is  by  general  consent  one  of  the  ablest  living  expositors  of  intellec- 
tual philosophy  in  its  several  subdivisions.  .  .  .  We  can  promise  the  student 
as  well  as  the  general  reader  not  only  real  instruction  and  clear  presentation  of 
matter,  but  also  attractive  reading. — New  York  Times. 

The  style  is  so  clear  and  direct,  the  presentation  of  the  whole  subject  is  so 
natural  and  forcible,  that  muny  persons  who  habitually  ignore  discussions  of  ab- 
stract topics  would  be  charmed  into  a  new  intflicctual  interest  by  giviug  Dr. 
McCosh's  work  a  careful  consideration.  —  A^.  1'.  Observer. 

This  work  is  not  unlikely  to  prove  in  the  end  the  most  useful  popular  service 
which  Dr.  McCosh  has  rendered  to  the  cause  of  right  thinking  and  to  sound  phi- 
losophy of  life.  —  The  Independent. 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS, 

PUBLISHERS, 
743-745  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 


